Never Want to Catch Up to the Letting Go
by Calculated Artificiality
Summary: Rayna Jaymes is 16 when she meets Deacon Claybourne; she's navigating her way through her life, loving music, trying to catch hold of her only dream. Maybe Deacon Claybourne gives her a second dream.
1. July 13th, 1988

_A/N: I've always wanted to try my hand at a backstory fic. So. This is mine. Not really my usual style, but we'll see how it goes, I guess._

* * *

 _July 13_ _th_ _, 1988_

Watty White fixed Deacon Claybourne with a hard stare before he put a hand on his shoulder and waggled a finger in his face, "Stay away from her." His voice was teasing, but Deacon could tell there was an underlying seriousness to his words.

Deacon threw his palms up in front of himself and took a step back, "Hey," he chuckled, "She's sixteen. She's a kid. I'm not interested in any kids."

Watty laughed then, and squeezed Deacon's shoulder, "You're 19. _You're_ still a kid," Watty dropped his hand, "But seriously, stay away from her."

Deacon slid up to the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey. The drinking age was raised to 21 from 19 a couple of years ago, but bars around here didn't so much care about the legality of how they made their money.

Watty slid in next to him, and rested his elbow on the bar. Deacon tipped the glass back, taking it in one swallow, and slapped the shot glass back on the bar.

"Gonna be a bit hard to do, you know… if you want me to play guitar for her." Deacon signaled the bartender with a small wave, and then tapped the spot in front of him with two fingers. The bartender nodded.

Watty chuckled, "Smartass. You _know_ what I mean."

Watty had only known Deacon for a month, but it seemed that was enough. In fact, Deacon hadn't even been in Nashville that long, a month or two really, but his reputation had apparently preceded him. He told people he learned guitar for the girls—it was true, when you had a guitar in your hands and you were halfway decent at it, the girls kind of fell at your feet. And Deacon wasn't just halfway good at it.

But that's not really why he learned guitar. He learned guitar to try to forget; he learned guitar to try to escape.

He supposed that's why he found himself with a different girl every week, too.

As the bartender placed another shot in front of him, he raised his glass to Watty, "I really don't think it'll be a problem, Watty."

Watty smirked, and then slid off the barstool, throwing a ten-dollar bill down. "We'll see about that." Watty clapped Deacon on the back, "Just be at the Bluebird tomorrow night at 8."

Deacon sipped the shot, "Alright." He said, before taking the rest.

. . . . . .

In July, even the nights were muggy. Deacon stepped from his truck, wondering how in the hell 8 at night still felt like it could choke somebody. Growing up in Mississippi, he was not a stranger to the humidity, to the way it clung to you, grabbed ahold of you and refused to let go. As he slammed the door of his pickup, he pulled his black t-shirt from his frame, fanning it a couple times to create air, enjoying the makeshift breeze on his back. He really needed to get that air conditioning fixed.

He was fifteen minutes late, so he was extra quiet as he slid in the door, the sound of someone plucking at a guitar escaping into the night until he closed the door behind him. The girl behind the counter smiled at him, he lifted his hand up in a wave, and went to a table in the back. He saw Watty, stationed at the bar leaning against it, stare at him briefly as he settled at the high top.

When he was seated, he let his eyes find the stage. There, he assumed, stood Rayna Jaymes. She was holding the microphone in one hand, the cord in another, nodding her head along to the music, glancing at the band behind her.

Watching her, he was momentarily stunned by the way the light threw itself underneath her red hair. It looked almost golden in the stage light. When she turned to face the audience, Deacon couldn't help but smile. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting when Watty told him about this young girl, but this sure wasn't it.

He couldn't make out the exact details of her face, but he immediately found her beautiful and captivating. _She's like home_. The thought hit him out of nowhere, and he shook his head in an attempt to dislodge it. First of all, he had no idea where it came from. Second of all, Deacon Claybourne might write something like that in a song, but he definitely didn't _think it_. Not about women, and certainly not about girls he'd never met.

He didn't have to try to erase the thought for long, because Rayna opened her mouth to sing, and when she did, every thought he'd ever had disappeared, and all that was left was the melodic sound of her voice reverberating in his head. Later, he would look back and realize it wasn't so much just the quality of her voice—she was good, very good—but it was the _way_ she sang. Her face lit up, and her whole body came alive as she belted the words into the microphone. She sang like it was the only thing in the world she ever wanted to do, like it might be the last thing she ever did.

He was so mesmerized by her performance, Deacon didn't notice Watty arrive at the high top. Rayna was just finishing the song when Watty leaned in to Deacon's ear.

"I told you," He said, startling Deacon, "Stay away from her."

Deacon's mouth was dry as the band quieted down, and her honeyed voice spoke to the crowd, "Thank y'all. It's been a real, real pleasure to perform here tonight at the Bluebird. I'm Rayna Jaymes."

She made her way offstage to the sound of applause, and Deacon watched as her eyes scanned the crowd, before they settled on Watty. She smiled at him, gave a little wave, and headed their way.

Deacon felt himself get nervous, wishing he'd taken a little more care to pick out his outfit, wishing he'd taken time to shave. By the time she arrived at their table, Deacon had composed a lengthy list of all the things he _wished_ he'd done to prepare for this meeting.

"Watty!" She said, beaming at him before she threw her arms around his neck, "That was amazing!" She pulled back from him and squeezed his arms, "I just performed at the Bluebird!" She said, giddy with excitement.

"So you did, my little songbird. So you did." Watty said, wrapping her in a hug. "You were so good."

Deacon watched the exchange; he watched how Watty's face lit up, how his eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. _That must be what it's like to have a father_ , Deacon thought, knowing that Watty wasn't, in fact, Rayna's father. But their affection was so clear, and pure.

"Rayna," Watty said, releasing her from his hug. "This," He gestured to Deacon, "Is Deacon Claybourne."

Rayna turned to face him, and smiled. _Shit_ , he thought, as she extended her hand, _she's pretty_.

"Hi, I'm Rayna."

He reached out and grasped her hand; her handshake was firm, and her skin was soft.

He smiled, "Deacon. Nice to meet you."

Deacon stared at her a moment before letting her hand go. She had a light dusting of freckles across her face; she was wearing a sleeveless mustard yellow floral sundress with muted browns and golds, and he could see that freckles also dotted her shoulders and continued down her arms. Her eyes were a sort of cornflower blue, and they were bright as she stared at him. He realized then, he was going to have to find some other word besides 'pretty,' because that just didn't do her justice.

"You too." She said, glancing between him and Watty. She slid up onto one of the barstools and crossed her legs. Deacon tried not to notice how long they were, how smooth they looked as they disappeared into well-worn brown cowboy boots. "So… you play guitar?"

Deacon nodded, offered her a small smile, "A little bit. You don't play?"

Rayna smiled shyly and shook her head, "I've never been very good with guitars."

"Maybe I'll teach you someday. Anyone can learn." Deacon said, watching her. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he was concerned about the fact that he was already offering this girl guitar lessons, and they'd just met.

She chuckled, "You say that now, but you haven't seen _me_ try." She rested her chin on her hand.

Watty laughed; having seen Rayna try to play guitar, he could vouch for this. His gaze lingered on Deacon before he spoke, "Why don't both of you come over to my place tomorrow around noon? I'll give Deacon the music tonight, you guys can talk tomorrow, try a few songs out to see if it'll be a match."

Rayna nodded, "Sure, Watty."

Watty turned to Deacon, "I'll walk you out."

Deacon slid off the chair and headed for the door, when he got there, he turned around, surprised to find Rayna's eyes on him.

"It was nice to meet you," He said, lifting his hand.

"You too." She waved back.

Watty pushed the door open, and Deacon stepped through it, the muggy night air rushing into his lungs, making him feel like he couldn't breathe. His internal monologue laughed at him, _yeah, just keep telling yourself it was the_ air _that stole your breath._

Watty headed to his car, Deacon following closely behind. Watty opened the door, pulled out a folder, and turned to face Deacon, a smile threatening to break. "Kid?" He shut the door, and thrust the folder out, slapping it lightly against Deacon's chest.

Deacon cleared his throat, "Shut up, Watty."

Watty walked around the front of his car, opened the driver's door, and tapped the roof of the car with his palm, before extending an index finger and pointing it at Deacon. "Remember what I said." He slid into the driver's side and closed the door. Putting the car in reverse, Watty leaned down and shot Deacon a hard glare.

Deacon rolled his eyes, "Yeah, yeah." He shouted through the window, as Watty drove away.

Deacon made his way to his truck, opened the door, and slipped inside. Closing the door behind him, he put the key in the ignition, but didn't turn it. In the silence of his truck, he could hear his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He cursed, and slammed his head against the headrest.

He'd written love songs before about some mythical girl, who could not possibly exist. He'd written songs about falling in love, songs about all the things that can happen to a heart, but they weren't real—none of it was real. Truth was, he'd never believed in love at first sight—hell, most days, he didn't even really believe in _love_ , let alone at first sight. He'd always thought it was a fool's notion, some romantic way of painting a world that didn't really care one way or another what you were doing in it, or whether you were even in it at all.

But somehow, from just the touch of a hand, and a few words, he already knew what he would spend months trying to deny: he would write his first honest love song about Rayna Jaymes.

* * *

 _TBC_


	2. July 14th, 1988

_July 14_ _th_ _, 1988_

Rayna approached Watty's sprawling house with butterflies in her stomach. She usually got butterflies before she went on stage, before she played someone a new song; if she were honest with herself, though, she would admit that these butterflies were entirely different. These butterflies, she knew, were because she was about to see Deacon Claybourne again.

He'd captivated her last night, completely taken her by surprise, which didn't happen very often when it came to people, and even less often when it came to men. She was still getting used to calling men 'men' instead of boys, but she very much had the sense that Deacon Claybourne _was_ a man, despite being 19. There was something about him that told her he hadn't been a boy for very long, if he ever had been.

She'd felt that way herself, forced to grow entirely up at a very early age, and so she often felt older than her sixteen years told the rest of the world she was.

She smoothed her hair and rubbed her palms on her jean cut-off shorts before she took a steadying breath and opened the door Watty always left open for her. The door opened right in to his living room, and she was happy to see Watty seated on his couch, guitar on his knee, his almost completely white hair slicked back. Next to him was Deacon, his guitar balanced on his lap, his head bent down looking at the music on the page, perched on the coffee table in front of him. His dark brown hair fell over his eyes, and Rayna felt the butterflies pick up their pace as they danced around in her stomach. He was clad in dark blue jeans and a white t-shirt, brown boots on his feet.

She closed the door softly behind her, and Watty looked up—when he saw her, a wide smile spread across his face.

"Hey, Rayna," He said, taking his guitar from his knee and resting it against the couch. He stood, walked over to her, and embraced her, then led her into the living room.

Deacon looked up from the music, and ran his eyes over her, "Hey." He nodded slightly, and gave her a small smile.

"Hey." She smiled, and gave a little awkward wave.

"Deacon and I were just going over No Way Out," Watty explained, motioning for her to sit. She sat on the couch, making sure to keep a considerable distance between herself and Deacon. Watty sat in a chair directly across from the couch, "Why don't you two run through this so we can see if the music part of this is even going to work?"

Rayna felt the flush rise in her face; singing in front of an audience was one thing, but singing in front of one or two people had always made her feel more self-conscious. She knew it wasn't logical, but that didn't stop her brain from drawing a difference. "Um, okay." She said, resting her palms on her knees.

No Way Out was a song Watty had written for her, and it was one of her favorites. Watty gave a little nod, and she looked at Deacon; staring straight at her, he began strumming the guitar. She was shocked he had been able to pick it up so quickly—she'd spent a solid month and a half trying to learn it, and she still couldn't get her fingers to make the changes. And yet, here he was, staring at her, playing it by memory already.

As their eyes locked, she felt her nerves tighten, and then dissipate; by the time it was her turn to sing, she felt the nerves replaced with something else she couldn't quite name.

She opened her mouth, and the words flowed out—she never broke eye contact with him, knew she couldn't even if she had wanted to. When the chorus came, he joined her, and the sound of their voices mingling left her momentarily stunned.

By the time Deacon strummed the last chord and stilled his hand, they'd been making eye contact for a solid three minutes, but even with the song over, it seemed neither of them could look away. In the silence that followed, Rayna found the word for what had displaced her nerves, and she felt her stomach leap at the revelation: _desire_.

Watty cleared his throat, and she suddenly remembered there was another person in the room besides her and Deacon. "Well," Watty said, staring hard at Deacon, who was still looking at Rayna. "I think that made it clear that the _music_ part of this is," He cleared his throat again, and Deacon finally turned his head to look at Watty, "Going to work."

Deacon smiled, and Rayna laughed, "That's good." She said, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ears.

Watty nodded, "Why don't you two go and take a little walk to make sure everything else is going to work, too." When Deacon and Rayna just stared at them, he stood, "Make sure you _like_ each other alright." He said, pointing at the sliding glass door that led to the acres behind his house.

Rayna and Deacon stood, and made their way to the sliding glass door; as Deacon pried it open, Rayna saw Watty point two fingers at his eyes, and then jut his index finger at Deacon. When they were outside, the sliding door safely shut behind him, Rayna looked at him.

"What was _that_ about?" She asked, looking at the acreage in front of them.

Deacon shook his head, "Nothin'."

Watty's backyard was expansive. He'd bought ranch property with the intention of someday having a ranch, but he'd never gotten around to getting the animals, or doing anything even remotely ranch-like. Dirt trails that would have made nice horse trails had the animals ever been purchased weaved around the property. Deacon and Rayna started down one, following the way it curved through the green pastures.

"You play guitar real well." She said, her boot skidding along the dirt as they walked.

He shrugged, "Thanks."

"Have you been playing long?" She turned to look at him.

"Pretty much my whole life." He replied, looking directly ahead of him. "Thought maybe my guitar would give me a way out," He glanced at her, "Guess maybe I was right."

"A way out of where?" She kicked a small pebble.

He was quiet for a while, until they were under a big Scarlet Oak tree. He stopped and leaned up against a fence, enjoying the respite from the heat the shade provided. She leaned up against the fence, too, propping one foot up on the bottom plank of the white fence, using the heel of her boot to keep her leg in place.

He pressed his back into the top slat of the fence. "Natchez, Mississippi." He replied, looking at her.

Rayna watched something pass over his eyes, and she could tell that he wasn't just trying to get out of Natchez, Mississippi with his guitar.

Deacon cleared his throat, "What about you?" He asked, before hoisting himself up to sit on the fence.

She looked out at the pasture in front of her, and then shifted her gaze down to her boots. She dropped her leg, and traced a pattern in the dirt with her boot before she spoke. She always hated telling people where she was from.

"Belle Meade." She said, keeping her head down, but lifting her eyes to watch his reaction. When he didn't have much of one, just quirked his mouth up a little on one side, and stared straight ahead, she figured he already knew.

"I'd heard that." He confirmed.

Rayna lifted her head and laughed, "Yeah." She nodded, "It has a way of getting out." She shook her head, "It's where I'm from, but… I don't really consider it my world. I spent a _lot_ of time in high school not fitting in, let's put it that way."

Deacon turned to look at her then, "You're 16; ain't you _still_ in high school?"

She shook her head, "I knew I wanted to be a singer when I was ten, but when I was 14 I really wanted to start pursuing it. Daddy told me I could pursue my music _after_ I finished school. So, I graduated a year early. Just this spring, in fact."

"Wow, pretty determined." He said, tapping his fingers on the top slat of the fence.

Rayna grinned, "Yeah, I guess. Or s _tubborn_ as Daddy calls it. 'Course, once I did that, Daddy insisted he meant _college_." Rayna rolled her eyes, "No matter how many times I tell him I'm not Tandy, he just won't listen."

"Tandy?" Deacon asked, hopping down from the fence and leaning up against it again.

Rayna nodded, "She's my sister, about four years older. Belle Meade is _definitely_ her world." She concluded, laughing a little at her own joke. "What about you?" She asked, "Any siblings?"

Deacon pushed off the fence and started to walk down the trail again, Rayna followed suit. "I got a sister. Little bit older than me."

"Oh." Rayna said, falling in stride next to him. "Are y'all close?" She asked, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand as she looked at him.

"Sometimes," He said, "She came to Nashville with me a couple months ago, but she went back."

"To Natchez?" At Deacon's nod, Rayna continued, "But you didn't." It wasn't a question, but she looked at him for a response anyway. She watched his jaw clench.

"Nope." He edged the word out.

She dropped her hand from her eyes, "What were you runnin' from?" She asked, her voice quiet.

Deacon stopped, and turned to face her. "What are you talking about?"

"Back there," She waved her hand back where they came from, "You said your guitar gave you a way out—I could…" She trailed off, watching him carefully, "I could see you didn't just mean from Natchez. It looked like…" She debated whether or not to continue, "You were trying to get away from… pain?"

Deacon smirked, "Really? You got _all that_ from a sentence?" When she just shrugged in response, he raised his eyebrows before he fixed her with a steady gaze, searching her eyes; he spoke when he seemed to recognize something there, "You grew up in a mansion in Belle Meade," He said, his face close to hers, quiet when he spoke. "What do you know about pain?"

Rayna stared at him, he didn't ask the question with venom, which surprised her. Usually, when people were talking about where she came from, it was to throw it back in her face. She thought back to the look in his eyes right before he asked the question, thought about how his gaze had changed, registering surprise; he could tell there was something. No one had been able to read her like that, not ever.

She crossed her arms over her chest, "My Momma died when I was 12, so I guess there's that." She said, a little defensively. She had to think about it that way, so she didn't cry.

Deacon's gaze softened, "I'm sorry." His voice was gentle, "How did she die?"

Rayna turned, and started walking back towards Watty's house, "A car wreck." She was looking at her boots, watching the gravel crunch underneath them, "She was my best friend," Her voice dropped to a whisper, so she could keep the tears out, "After she died, I really felt like I didn't have anyone; no one to talk to about my dreams, about what I wanted to do with my life. Tandy was there, but she's basically a carbon copy of Daddy, and so even before she went off to college I just felt like I had no one who could understand." She laughed a little uncomfortably, "Watty helps. But, some days I still feel like I don't." She felt the tears come, and she swiped at them with her hands.

"I'm sorry," Deacon said again, his eyes fixed on Watty's house ahead of them. "Watty's really supported you, huh?"

Rayna nodded, "Yeah." She laughed, "I don't know why he's taken such a liking to me, but I'm real grateful he has. He's like... a father figure." She shrugged.

Deacon nodded, "I could see that last night."

Rayna smiled, "What about your parents?" She asked, "Do they support you?"

Deacon's laugh was short, "Yeah," He said, but Rayna didn't believe him, "You could say that. _Big_ supporters of mine, my parents." Deacon squinted, "So, No Way Out—pretty great song Watty wrote for you."

Many things could be said about Rayna Jaymes, but she could certainly take a hint, even at sixteen, "Yeah. Great song." They were on the back porch now, and they situated themselves into the chairs on Watty's back patio. "So, do you want to play guitar for me?" She was biting her lip.

Deacon chuckled, "Do you _want_ me to play guitar for you?" He asked.

Just then, Watty opened the sliding door of the back porch. He looked at them, and then leaving the sliding glass door open behind him, came to stand in front of the patio table.

"Well?" He raised an eyebrow, "If _this_ ," he gestured between them, "Is gonna work, I've got you a gig for next Friday night." He smiled, "So?" He looked at Rayna.

Rayna considered the question. She felt pulled to Deacon Claybourne in a way that scared her—in a way she had never felt before. It would be so easy to dismiss it, to say it wasn't going to work; part of her thought that's what she _should_ do. But, she knew they worked well together—the look on Watty's face after they sang together told her at least that much, if not more. Besides, Rayna had never been one to run from a challenge.

Making the decision, Rayna nodded, "Yes," she said, then glanced at Deacon who was staring straight at Watty.

"Yeah," Deacon agreed, a languid smile spreading over his face, "It's gonna work."

Watty sat down in the third patio chair and leaned in towards Deacon, "It better."

Rayna slid her sunglasses from the top of her head to cover her eyes, trying to quiet the thunderous hammering of her heart, trying to make the adrenaline stop coursing through her veins.

She was going to be working with Deacon Claybourne—the thought exhilarated her. As she watched Deacon smirk at Watty, she got the distinct impression that she was being left out of some private joke between the two of them.

And as Deacon turned toward her and winked, she got the very distinct impression that she was going to have to hold desperately on to her heart around Deacon Claybourne.

* * *

 _TBC_


	3. July 22nd, 1988

_July 22_ _nd_ _, 1988_

Rayna stood on the small stage, staring out at the crowd while Deacon grabbed a stool and set it down next to her. Over the past week, they'd been rehearsing non-stop, spending nearly every waking moment with each other, trying to find the rhythm of their sound together. At Watty's suggestion, they'd turned No Way Out into a duet, and they'd be closing with it.

Tonight was the first time they'd play it for anyone but Watty, and Rayna felt the audience's eyes on her as Deacon perched on the stool, slinging his guitar across his chest. He glanced at her, she gave a slight nod, and then he started playing.

She'd noticed a strange phenomenon in the last week with Deacon; whenever they sang together, they couldn't look away. She wondered if it was because they were in an intimate setting—Watty's living room—or if it was something else, something deeper. As they sang together tonight, with over thirty pairs of eyes trained on them, Rayna learned that it apparently didn't matter _where_ they sang together, they simply couldn't look away from one another.

When Deacon played the last note, there was silence through the crowd as they stared at each other. Rayna finally registered the lack of noise, and breaking eye contact with Deacon, she turned to face the crowd. The crowd was staring at them, some of them had their mouths open, others were wiping tears from their faces; Rayna felt panic rush through her body, she wondered if this was perhaps a mistake. She felt herself growing embarrassed, acutely aware of the focus directed her way, when suddenly in the back, someone started clapping. Someone joined in, followed by more, and then half the crowd was on their feet for them.

She turned to look at Deacon; he gave her a small smile and shrugged one of his shoulders, but his eyes held the same intense gaze they did when they were singing together. Rayna turned to find Watty in the audience, and when she did, she felt the tears burn the back of her eyes—he was looking at her with such _pride,_ pride she hadn't seen reflected on anyone's face since she was 12 years old.

After they greeted Watty, and he'd congratulated them and said his goodbyes, and as the next performer moved to take the stage, Deacon leaned down and whispered in her ear, "You want to get outta here? Maybe get a drink to celebrate?"

She smiled and agreed, and as they left the venue, he guided her through the door with his hand on the small of her back.

He took her to a bar on the other side of town—she was worried she wouldn't get in, but he just smiled, "They don't care much about IDs here," He said, opening the door for her.

It turned out he was right. As they took their place at the bar, the bartender slid two cocktail napkins in front of them. "What can I get you?" He asked, looking at Deacon.

Deacon held his fingers up, "Two shots of whiskey, please." He looked at Rayna, "What do you want?"

Rayna bit her lip—she'd only started having wine with Tandy this past year, sneaking it when their father wasn't home. Sometimes, she'd sneak a glass by herself, when she was trying to write a song. She'd had tequila in a margarita at a party once, and she didn't hate it.

She smiled shyly, "Tequila?"

Deacon nodded, "And two shots of tequila."

When the bartender returned, and slid the 4 glasses in front of them, Rayna noticed a group of girls in the corner of the bar staring at Deacon. She rolled her eyes when she caught one of them sneering at her. The bartender placed two glasses of water in front of them.

Rayna looked back at Deacon, who was picking up a shot glass. He raised it slightly to her. Following suit, Rayna picked one of hers up and did the same.

"To an _amazing_ show," Deacon said, thrusting his glass towards hers.

She nodded as their glasses clinked, and she watched Deacon tip his glass to his mouth, downing the shot.

She followed suit, but as the alcohol hit her tongue, she sputtered a bit, eventually swallowing, and trying not to gag. Her eyes were watering, and when she looked at Deacon his shoulders were shaking with laughter.

"Shut up!" She eked out, her breath still nearly gone from the alcohol.

His eyes were shining as he looked at her, "Don't do this very often, huh?"

"What gave me away?" She said, clearing her throat. Her belly felt warm, even as her throat burned.

Deacon chuckled, "You don't have to take that second one if you don't want to." Deacon smirked a little, "You know…If you can't."

Rayna narrowed her eyes at him, but she was smiling. "Oh, is that right?" She asked, picking up the second shot glass. She lifted it to him briefly, before bringing it to her lips. Knowing what to expect now, she tipped her head back, taking it in one swallow. She set the glass on the bar, turned to look at Deacon, and licked her lips, the alcohol there burning her tongue.

"Impressive," He said, raising his own glass to his lips. After he finished, he set his shot glass on the bar, and folded his arms over his chest, swiveling on the stool to face her properly.

Her throat still burning from the alcohol, she swallowed, and then she cocked her head to the side, "How'd you meet Watty, anyway?"

Deacon chuckled, "He didn't tell you?"

Rayna shook her head, laughing a little, "He didn't tell me _anything_ about you, really."

Deacon smiled, "Watty saw me busking. Dropped a dollar in my guitar case, then told me I was the next Johnny Cash."

Rayna raised her eyebrows, "Did he now?"

Deacon laughed, "No. Not quite. But he _did_ say I knew my way around the guitar, and that I should come by and see him." He shrugged, "So, I did."

"So you did." She chuckled, "Luckily for me." She bit her lip a little, and then smiled.

Deacon cleared his throat, swiveling slightly on the barstool. "So, Rayna Jaymes," He asked, "What made you want to be a singer?"

Rayna ran her finger along the edge of her empty shot glass. She shrugged, "It's one of my earliest memories, actually—or just one of my best ones, I guess. Listening to _Rose Colored Glasses_ with my momma when I was six years old. I would sing along, and she'd just smile at me with this…" Rayna squinted her eyes a little bit, remembering, "Look on her face. A combination of wonder, awe… and _pride_. I just knew right then I wanted to spend the rest of my life chasing that look."

Deacon tilted his head, "From her?"

Rayna nodded, "From her… from everyone, really. I just… wanted to make people _feel_ something." She laughed, "Does that sound dumb?" She noticed how her tongue felt loose grabbing onto her words.

He shook his head, "It really, really doesn't."

She lifted the glass of water to her lips and took a sip—"What about you? Did you always know you wanted to play guitar and sing?" She asked, setting her water back down on the bar.

Rayna watched as something passed over his eyes as he grew quiet, then cleared his throat, "No. I mean, not really." He paused, "I mostly spent a lot of time thinking about what I _didn't_ want to be when I grew up."

Rayna reached out and played with the condensation on her water glass, "What do you mean?"

Deacon considered her before taking a sip of his water, "You ever just see someone… see something and think… _that_ is _exactly_ what I _don't_ want to be?" He looked down at the bar, tapped his fingers on the surface.

Rayna thought about her father—she'd spent years craving his affection, only to realize it was something he couldn't really give her. Not the way she needed him to, anyway. She remembered thinking she would never withhold her love like that, not from her children, not from anyone. Rayna thought about Tandy—about how, as much as she loved her sister, Tandy embodied everything Rayna was fighting so hard against.

Rayna's head felt light, as she reached her hand out and placed it gently on his arm, "I have, yes."

Deacon looked down at where her hand connected with his bare arm, and Rayna felt her stomach jump a little when he brought his eyes to meet hers again. He was looking at her so intently she felt the heat rise to her body, and she prayed it wouldn't make it to her face. She'd never felt like this before, so on edge and nervous around a man.

"That's what I spent my time dreaming about," He said, his voice low.

"In Natchez." She said, removing her hand from his arm.

He watched her fingers trail across his skin, and then he stared at her, "Yeah. In Natchez."

Rayna thought back to their first conversation together—remembered how she got the distinct impression that he was running from something. She got that impression again talking with him now, that he was running from something. She longed to tell him that he didn't need to run anymore. Though, if she was honest, she was running from something too. _We can run together_ she wanted to tell him, _from Natchez, from Belle Meade_ , _from everything_.

* * *

 _TBC_


	4. July 29th, 1988

_July 29_ _th_ _, 1988_

The bar was muggy, the air conditioner obviously on its last leg, barely getting the job done. Smoke filtered through the room, and people stood in every corner, some huddled against the jukebox, some two-stepping on a makeshift dance floor. Friday nights in this part of Nashville offered surprisingly little to choose from.

Deacon Claybourne was in a corner booth, a woman on either side of him. He slammed a shot of whiskey back, and placed the glass on the table. His roommate, Chad, was sitting at the edge of the booth, his eyes surveying the scene. Chad was wearing acid-washed denim, and a tank top, with some weird vest contraption. His white-blonde hair was wild, and he looked exactly like he'd stepped off the cover of some hair band album. Deacon always wondered how Chad had ended up in Nashville.

They'd finished their second show together, Rayna singing, Deacon playing lead guitar and backing her up vocally, and two other guys Watty'd found playing with them. Now, they were all out celebrating.

Rayna was currently leaning against the bar talking to her sister. A glass of red wine was in front of Tandy, while Rayna held her white wine in her hand. Tandy was leaning against the bar, too, dressed in slacks, a cardigan set, and black flats. Contrasted with Rayna, who was wearing a denim skirt, a tank top, and black cowboy boots, it looked like these two young women had never spent a second together before tonight. Until you noticed the hair, and the way their smiles turned their mouths in exactly the same way.

Deacon supposed Tandy was pretty enough, but over the last two weeks, he'd found himself unable to stop looking at Rayna. Even more than that, unable to get Rayna out of his head. Even now, surrounded by two women, one of whom was tracing circles on his neck with her fingernail, he found himself looking at Rayna.

They'd been spending more and more time together lately, and he frequently found himself thinking about her— _there's just something about her, man_ he'd said to Chad last weekend.

Sitting here now, he couldn't take his eyes off her. The woman next to him said something to him.

"What?" He asked, not taking his eyes from Rayna.

"I said…" She leaned in close to him, "Do you want to go back to our place?" She said, pointing to the brunette on the other side of him.

Deacon cleared his throat, "I… uh… no." He said, sipping his beer, "No thanks."

The women looked offended as they scoffed and made their way out of the booth. Chad apologized to them as he stood to let them out.

"Sorry about him," Chad muttered, sliding back into the booth as the girls left.

Deacon didn't notice, and Chad followed his gaze where it rested on Rayna. "Don't do it, man." Chad said, shaking his head as he took a long pull on his beer.

Deacon turned to look at him, "Don't do _what_ , Chad?" Deacon asked, smiling.

Chad pointed with his bottle of beer towards Rayna, "That." He said, and set his beer on the table, "Look at her."

Deacon smirked, "Oh, I've been looking."

Chad rolled his eyes, "I know you have—and so have half the guys in this bar, by the way, but that's not my point, and you know it." He pointed a stubby finger at Deacon, "It's dangerous."

Deacon slid to the edge of the booth, "Is it?" He smirked and headed towards Rayna at the bar.

"It's a bad idea!" Chad shouted, shaking his head.

Deacon pulled Rayna away from Tandy and led her through the bar, surprised and happy to find it was cooler outside than it was inside. When they got outside, Deacon let go of her hand and turned to face her.

"What are we doing?" She asked, laughing.

He shrugged, "Just wanted to talk a bit—get some air." He leaned up against the side of the bar, the neon light casting a glow on his brown hair.

"It _does_ feel nice out here," She said, settling in beside him.

"So, did you have fun tonight?" He asked, glancing at her.

She smiled, "I had _so_ much fun tonight," Her skin was pink and her eyes were a little glassy—Deacon could tell she was a little tipsy. "It was fun having my sister there, even if it's not really her element." She laughed, "If Tandy had her way, I'd be singing at the Country Club for the rest of my life, not at the Broken Spoke."

Deacon laughed at that—Tandy did stick out like a sore thumb in the audience tonight. It was the first time he'd seen her, but he'd picked her out in the audience right away. "She's nice." Deacon said, "Your sister."

Rayna eyed him, and pressed her lips together trying to suppress a smile.

It was the first time Deacon had met Tandy, "What?" He chuckled, "She is."

Rayna rolled her eyes, "Yeah, okay." She giggled then, "Tandy has been called many things in her life, but _nice_ definitely isn't one of them."

Deacon nodded—truthfully, Tandy had been a little rude to him when Rayna had introduced them. He recognized that she was just being protective, but he didn't actually get the impression that even without her little sister involved, Tandy would care much for him.

"I was talking to Chad earlier," Rayna said, "Not really sure what to make of him."

Deacon smiled, "Yeah, he's a character."

"How'd he end up in _Nashville_ of all places?" She asked, drumming her fingers on the brick wall behind her.

"I ask him that all the time." Her replied.

Rayna cleared her throat, "He had some… interesting things to say about you, though."

Deacon turned his head to look at her, raising his eyebrows in question.

"Said you're _quite_ the ladies man." Rayna turned to face him, pressing her left shoulder into the brick.

"Well, I don't know about _that_." He _did,_ actually, know about that, but ever since he met Rayna Jaymes, he couldn't even _think_ about another woman. It annoyed him at first, honestly, but now he felt more and more intrigued by it.

"Said I should probably stay away from you." She pressed her lips together.

Deacon turned to face her, leaning against the brick with his right shoulder, "You probably should." He nodded.

She laughed, tipping her head back, and then stared at him, "And why is that?" She asked, watching as his eyes darkened. "Because you're from the wrong side of the tracks?"

Deacon laughed, "Darlin'," He leaned closer to Rayan, "The tracks don't even _go_ to where _I'm_ from." He winked at her.

"Is that right?" She asked, her eyes growing serious.

He noticed their proximity, and he leaned in closer to her. "That's right." He whispered, and bent his head down, his mouth inches away from hers.

Just then, the door to the bar burst open, Deacon pulled his head back as Tandy spun on them, "Rayna!" She exclaimed, "There you are!" Tandy looked at her watch, "We have to get home, Daddy will be home soon." She grabbed Rayna's wrist and lightly tugged.

Rayna's eyes were wide, she stole a quick look at Deacon's lips, and then smiled, "Alright," She said to Tandy, though she was still looking at Deacon, "I'll see you." She said, talking to him now.

"Yes you will." He said, winking at her as Tandy led her away.

Deacon didn't miss the glare Tandy threw over her shoulder at him, and he shook his head, leaning his temple against the brick. Maybe Chad was right. Maybe this _was_ a bad idea. That, however, had never before stopped Deacon Claybourne.


	5. August 13th, 1988

_August 13_ _th_ _, 1988_

Rayna felt like she'd been walking on a cloud all day, ever since Watty told her the news. She'd been wrapping up a small rehearsal with Deacon and one of the other guys at Watty's house, when Watty pulled her off to the side.

"What are you doing next Friday night?" Watty asked, his hands grasping her arms.

Rayna smiled, "Nothing. Why, what have you got?" She asked, ready to hear the news.

"Well," He said, drawing out the word a bit, "How would you like to play a gig?" He let her arms go.

Rayna laughed, "You know I'm always up for that!"

Watty nodded, "How would you like to play a gig… for a little money?"

Rayna froze, her mouth dropped open, "What?" She said, staring at Watty. "You got me… a _paid_ gig?" She was smiling, "Are you serious?"

Watty chuckled, "Very serious, my little songbird."

"Oh, Watty!" Rayna threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, "I can't believe it! My first _paying_ gig!"

"The guys are all ready, so we just have to work out a twenty minute set-list, and we'll be good to go." Watty smiled, "Come by tomorrow, we can figure it out then."

Rayna nodded, and hugged him again. Since then, she'd been elated, daydreaming about the future and what a paid gig might mean. She spent the afternoon lying on her bed, writing lyrics she'd been hearing in her head over the last few weeks. She'd been struck with a new inspiration, and she didn't know where it came from. She actually knew where it came from, but the scribbles in her journal still let her pretend it was a mystery.

She was at dinner with her father now, something he insisted they do together at least once every week, whether she wanted to or not. She didn't mind it so much tonight, though, given the day she'd had and the news she'd received.

They were at a fancy French restaurant that served food she didn't even really start liking until last year. Her father was seated across from her, browsing the appetizer menu like he didn't just order the same exact thing every week.

She stared at her father for a moment, wondering how she'd come from him and yet ended up so incredibly different. Lamar Wyatt was a formidable man, in stature and in personality—he filled up the space allotted to him, and then some. Wherever they went in Nashville, people knew him.

And her, by extension. They couldn't get through a meal without Daddy taking at least a little break to do some business. It usually bothered Rayna, but tonight when the host came over to tell them that someone wanted to see her father, it didn't even faze her. She just sat at the table, waiting for her father's return, running over ideas for next Friday's set list in her head.

Lamar peered over the menu, "Do you know what you want yet?"

Rayna nodded, and Lamar waved the waiter over. After they ordered, they lapsed into silence. They weren't talking much tonight, which wasn't actually unusual. There had always been mostly silence between them, but usually Rayna would try to force some conversation about the weather or about movies, but she was too busy thinking to do that tonight.

"So," Lamar said, his voice booming even in the quiet restaurant, "Next Friday is your sister's engagement party," He picked up his wine and took a sip, "You're expected to be there, of course."

Rayna's face fell, and her stomach lurched, "Daddy, I can't come next Friday, I have… plans!" She said, not wanting to lie but knowing that telling her father the truth would make things much, much worse.

Lamar set his wine glass down and folded his hands in front of him, "Rayna," His voice was stern, "You have a family obligation that is exponentially more important than whatever little plans you've made." He narrowed his eyes, "Your sister is getting married. You _will_ be there to support her at the celebration of the impending marriage."

Rayna sighed. Tandy had gone and met the son of some business mogul while she was studying at Vanderbilt—Rayna hadn't even _met_ Samuel Hampton, except once when she was visiting Tandy at her dorm. He seemed alright, but Rayna wasn't sure why Tandy felt the need to go and _marry_ the guy already.

"Daddy," Rayna took a sip of her water, trying to quell the uneasy feeling in her stomach, "I'll talk to Tandy. She'll understand, I know she will." Her voice rose at the end, her desperation breaking through.

"We're not going to discuss this now, Rayna," He said, "But you'll be going to that party." He smoothed his black hair back, taming the slightly grey flyaways at his temple.

They ate in silence—Rayna didn't really touch her food, cycling through dread, apprehension, anger, and sadness instead. The ride home was silent, too, but Rayna felt the rage building inside of her the more she thought about how dismissive her father was of her opinion—of her, in general.

It wasn't anything new, of course, but this paid gig was the best thing that had happened to her in a long time, and she knew Tandy would understand if she couldn't make the engagement party.

When they got home, Rayna broached the subject again in the foyer. "Daddy, I can't go to Tandy's party, I have something really important to do next Friday," She said, her voice quiet. In her sixteen years, she'd learned that yelling at her father rarely got the job done.

Her father loosened his cufflinks and slid his jacket off, hanging it on the coatrack by the door. "Fine, Rayna, I'll bite. What is so important that you need to miss your only sister's _engagement_ party?" He turned to look at her.

Rayna bit her lip, "I… just… I made plans, and I can't break them."

Lamar laughed, but it wasn't warm—his laughs rarely were. "You don't honestly think you're going to get out of this party and not tell me _why_ do you?"

She sighed, knowing she was going to have to tell the truth, "I… have a paid gig, Daddy. It's my very first one, _ever_. It's a really big deal, and I can't miss it."

Lamar narrowed his eyes, "I should have known this had something to do with _music_." He spat the word out.

"Look, I know you don't understand this whole music thing, but it means a lot to me." Her words were measured.

Lamar smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes, "Means more to you than your own family, it seems." He smirked at her.

"Daddy, that's not fair. You know I care about my family." The truth was, she did. She loved Tandy, even though they were completely different people. She even loved her father, in spite of how hard he made things between them sometimes. "I just… love music, and this is a big deal. It's a huge deal! It's my first paid gig!" She said, putting her hands out in front of her, "I wish you could see that." Her voice was quiet when she spoke.

"What I _see_ Rayna, is you choosing music over your own family. For what? Twenty dollars?" Lamar stared at her, "Thirty?"

Rayna shrugged, "I don't know how much, actually, it's not important; someone wants to pay me to play music! Why can't you see how amazing that is for me?" She shrugged, "Watty White set this up for me, I can't let him down either." Rayna looked at her father.

Lamar's face grew dark, and Rayna watched his features change, watched as rage settled in on his face. She couldn't remember _ever_ seeing him quite this mad. "You are _not_ going to be playing music next Friday night," He said, his voice echoing in the foyer, "Or any other night, for that matter."

Rayna flinched at the sound of his voice; he hadn't yelled at her in a long time. She'd seen this side of her father before, but it came so unexpectedly tonight that she wasn't able to prepare herself for it. She felt herself growing angry, she felt the tears of frustration spring to her eyes.

"Yes," Rayna said, "I am." Her voice shook, but she stared her father right in the eye. "You just want everyone around you to be as miserable as you are! You just want _me_ to be as miserable as you are!" She shouted, her voice reverberating in the small room.

"You're living in my house," He said, stepping in front of her, "So as long as you stay here, you have to live by my rules."

"Maybe I don't want to live in your house anymore." She said, staring at him.

He returned her gaze, and then lifted his chin, "If that's what you want." He pointed at the door, "The door's right there." He turned and walked up the stairs, his footsteps heavy.

"Oh, I know where it is," Rayna shouted at him, her voice filled with anger, "I've been watching you walk out of it for pretty much my whole life."

Lamar paused at her words, halfway up the stairs, but he didn't turn to look at her; he just shook his head, and continued walking.

Rayna ran to her room, packed a duffle bag with some clothes, pulled on her favorite brown cowboy boots, and headed out the door.

. . .

When she saw the little house in the near distance, the tears started again. She'd been walking for about an hour—her anger had carried her halfway, but she was growing weary now. The sun was down, and she shifted her duffle bag to her other shoulder, trying to bear the weight that became significantly heavier the longer she walked. She was thankful she remembered the way, having only been to his house once while he grabbed his guitar. She chalked it up to her impeccable memory, but she knew it was because he had been of great interest to her in the past few weeks.

As she reached the end of the walkway, she saw him sitting on the porch, a guitar cradled in his lap; the dulcet tones hit her ears and she smiled for the first time in three hours. She started up the walk, and Deacon looked up to see her when she was about halfway to the porch. She stopped just outside the reach of the porch light, and he stopped playing.

"Well, if it isn't Rayna Jaymes, all the way from Belle Meade; didn't know your kind stopped on this side of the tracks." He teased.

She noticed the bottle of Jameson next to him on the porch, its cap haphazardly stuck on. She cocked her head to the side and considered him, "You sure do drink a lot."

One corner of his mouth quirked up, "Do I?" He asked.

Rayna shrugged even though he couldn't see her in the dark, "Seems like it, sometimes."

He smiled, staring at her outline, "Well. Maybe I'll quit."

Rayna sighed, and then stepped closer to him. The dim porch light illuminated her form, her white eyelet sundress bright even in the relative darkness. As his eyes landed on her face, he could immediately tell she'd been crying.

His voice was gentle, "Hey, what's wrong?" He asked, putting his guitar down on the porch.

She slung her duffle bag off her shoulder and let it hit the sidewalk. She sat on the second step of the porch and looked at him. "Daddy kicked me out." Her eyes were red around their rims, and she sniffled a little at the end of her sentence, despite her best efforts.

He dropped his pick on the porch, "What happened?"

She told him the story—all the things her father had said, all the things she'd yelled back at him.

"You don't think you guys will make up?" He questioned, stretching his legs out in front of him, down the porch stairs.

Rayna shook her head, "It was different this time," She sighed, "We've fought before, but… it was different this time." She finished. She fidgeted with the top of her boot, "Besides, I don't think I actually _want_ to go back there." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, "You must think I'm so stupid."

Deacon's mouth fell open a little, "Hey—wait, what?" He was confused by her logic.

She laughed a little at his expression, noticing how good it felt to laugh, "Well," She said, hanging on the 'l' at the end, "I basically just ran away." She looked at him, "From a mansion in Belle Meade."

His voice was gentle, "I don't think you're stupid, Ray." He assured.

The diminutive hung in the air between them; it was the first time he'd used it. Rayna felt herself hoping it wouldn't be the last.

She shook her head, "People must think I'm so stupid—I have this _life_ handed to me, and I just… reject it and run towards pretty much the exact opposite."

Deacon turned his head to look at her, "You aren't stupid." He said, smiling, "And I ain't people."

Rayna laughed then, "No," She agreed, "You sure aren't." She hadn't yet decided exactly what Deacon _was,_ but she knew he damn sure wasn't like everyone else.

Deacon crossed his legs at the ankles, his palms pressing into the porch to support his weight, "Do you need a place to stay? We ain't got much room, but…"

Rayna found herself looking at his biceps as they supported his weight, noticing their definition through his t-shirt. "No, that's very sweet, but… I think you and Chad are cramped enough as it is." She smiled, "I called Watty from a payphone on my way over here, he's going to let me stay at his place for awhile." She glanced down at her feet, "I might need a ride, though."

Deacon followed her gaze, "Those boots weren't made for walking, huh?" He grinned.

She let out a small hiss of air through her teeth, a sort of laugh at his bad joke, "Not really."

He shrugged, "I can give you a ride."

Rayna glanced at the bottle of Jameson sitting beside him, "How much of that have you had?"

"Not much, yet." He brought his feet up and sat up straighter on the porch, "I was gonna start right after I finished this song," He tipped his head in the direction of the notebook, "Besides, I'd never drive you around if I'd been drinking."

She looked at him, turning her head to the side—there was something about the way he said that. It made her happy and sad at the same time, like he'd be careful with her, but not with himself.

She nodded, "I know." She said, quietly, looking out at the street. It was so much darker here than at home—well, not _home_ anymore, so much. Her father's house. She looked at the house behind Deacon, a tiny house he rented with Chad, and smiled, then she winced.

Noticing her expression, Deacon leaned his head towards her, "What?"

Rayna buried her head in her hands, "Nothing," She said, the word muffled by her fingers, "It's just… I'm gonna need to get a job, I'm gonna need to get a place, I'm gonna need to…"

"You're gonna need to take a breath." Deacon interrupted her list. He placed a hand on her bare knee, and Rayna froze, peeking at his hand on her knee between her fingers. His hand was much tanner than her skin, the contrast evident even in the relative darkness of the porch. He squeezed her knee a little, and then dropped his hand.

She looked at his face through her hands, trying to discern if he felt the same little jolt she had at their touch.

"I have a little money saved up, but…" At his look, she dropped her hands from her face, "What?"

He threw his hands out in front of him, "I didn't say anything."

Rayna bit back a smile, "Let me guess, you thought I'd never worked a day in my life."

Deacon chuckled, "I didn't say anything." He repeated.

She swung her body to the side, lightly nudging his knee with her shoulder, "Well, I have a bit of money saved up, but…" She trailed off, returning her gaze to the darkened street in front of her.

"Well, after next week, you're going to be a paid musician." Deacon said, closing the notebook beside him.

She smiled, "Yeah, but aren't they always saying music doesn't pay the bills?"

Deacon laughed, "They are, yeah. But, I don't know…" He pretended to think about it, "For you, it just might." He winked, "And then some."

Rayna smiled, then she eyed his notebook, "What're you writing about?"

Deacon didn't look at her, "A girl." He answered.

Rayna felt her heart drop into her stomach—and she felt a rush of jealousy wash over her. She'd sworn he was about to kiss her a week or so ago outside of that bar, but it hadn't come up since. Maybe she'd read it all wrong; maybe she was just attributing her own desires to him. The thought made her sad.

Deacon smiled, and turned to look at her, "And my truck." He pushed himself up from the porch, "Come on," he said, holding his hand to help her up, "I'll give you a ride to Watty's."

"Thanks." Smiling, she took his hand and stood up, feeling a rush of disappointment when he let go of her hand.

She reached down to pick up her duffle bag, but he stopped her.

"I'll get that," He said, picking it up and hoisting it on his shoulder. He walked her to his truck, tossed the duffle bag in back, and pulled open the door for her.

Rayna smiled shyly at him as she slipped past him into the truck, "Thanks."

He nodded, and closed the door.

As he made his way around the truck, Rayna couldn't stop her mind from working. After the night she had, she should feel upset and hopeless—but, when she really thought about it, she didn't. She felt excited, and a little scared. Mostly, she felt free. As Deacon slid in behind the driver's seat she realized that it was a new feeling—she'd never felt free in her entire life. As Deacon turned the key in the ignition and put it into drive, she glanced at him and felt the butterflies return to her stomach. She tried to tell herself they were making an appearance because of the new journey she was about to embark upon—one that hopefully led to her making a career out of music.

But, as he fiddled with the radio, the warm night breeze throwing her hair around her face as it rushed in from the windows, Rayna knew the truth. She tried not to be scared by the fact that she'd rather be sitting here beside him rambling down the road in his beat-up pickup truck than sitting inside the biggest mansion in Belle Meade.


	6. August 19th, 1988

_August 19_ _th_ _, 1988_

Before the show started, Rayna felt so excited and elated she was near tears. She was out in back behind the small café, just taking it all in. She'd learned nearly five years ago the importance of standing in a moment and really appreciating it, so she was trying to do that now. She didn't know where this road was going to lead her, or what her future was going to hold, but she knew tonight she was taking one step closer to every dream she'd ever had. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once, and she had so much emotion running through her, her mind working overtime thinking about everything that could happen, and about all the things that might _not_ happen, too.

The back door of the café swung open, and she turned to see Deacon emerging into the twilight that was currently casting shadows over the alley.

"Hey," He nodded when he saw her, "There you are." She was leaning up against the wall and he came to stand next to her.

"Hey," She said, smiling at him.

He grinned back at her, "You nervous?"

"No," She shook her head, "Yes." She nodded.

Deacon laughed, "Well, you're about to get paid to play music, so I reckon you're feeling a lot of different things right about now."

" _We're_ getting paid to play music," She corrected him.

Deacon nodded, "We are, that's right."

Rayna pushed herself up from the wall and stared at him, "I just…" She wrapped her arms around herself, "What if it all goes wrong?" She asked, her brow furrowed.

He smiled at her, "Could happen." He nodded, "But, what if it doesn't?" He reached out and grasped her hand, "You could get your dream."

She smiled softly at him, taking in the features of his face; the way his eyes looked in the sunset light seemed like something out of a movie. "I could." She whispered, not sure when she spoke if she was talking about her lifelong dream, or the newer one she was just discovering—the one that seemed to revolve around him. Either way, she suddenly knew he was essential—to her dreams, to her. The thought overwhelmed her.

He tugged on her hand, "Come on," He opened the door for her, "It's show time."

She grinned, and he let go of her hand as she walked through the door, pausing to look at him as she did. "Thanks, Deacon," She said, staring up at him.

"Anytime," He returned, giving her a wink. Then, he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on her cheek.

When he pulled away, she stared at him for a moment; she opened her mouth to say something, though she hadn't determined quite _what_ , but Watty came walking down the back hall.

"Ready, Rayna?" He asked.

She tore her gaze away from Deacon, though she could still feel his eyes on her. She nodded at Watty, "Yep." She said, walking through the door, Deacon following behind her.

The performance went well; people were eating and drinking while they were playing—it was a café after all—but Rayna didn't care. She was being paid to sing, and that felt like the only thing in the world that mattered to her in that moment. Until she looked at the man strumming his guitar next to her, that is.

When their set was over, and the applause died down, Rayna and Deacon made their way off stage. As they walked through the back hall, they happened upon the tail end of a conversation Watty was having with a man dressed in a suit and tie, "I've really never seen anything quite like it before," Watty said, shaking his head at the well-dressed man.

"Anything like what, Watty?" She asked, coming up behind him and putting her arm around his shoulder.

Watty smiled, and raised his index finger, pointing between Rayna and Deacon, "You two."

Rayna felt herself blush as she dropped her arm from around Watty and turned to face Deacon. He smiled at her, and gave her a little nod.

The man in the suit and tie reached out his hand, "Excellent show, Ms. Jaymes," She shook it. "Mr. Claybourne," He extended his hand to Deacon, shaking it vigorously. The man turned to Watty, "Mr. White," He smiled, "I'll be in touch." With a final nod to Rayna and Deacon, he headed back into the audience for the next act.

When he was gone, Rayna turned to face Watty, "Who was that?" She asked, her eyebrows raised.

"That was someone I may just be telling you about later," Watty winked at her. "Great show, you two." He said, squeezing Rayna on the arm, and clapping Deacon on the shoulder before heading back into the audience.

Deacon turned to face her, "You sounded really great tonight, Ray."

She smiled, "So did you."

He grinned at her, "Do you want to—"

She knew exactly what he was going to ask, so she didn't even wait for him to finish. She just smiled and nodded her head. He led her out of the café, his guitar case in his hand as they walked into the thick summer night.

It was becoming something of a post-show ritual with them to go out together—sometimes to a quick dinner, always to a bar. Deacon never invited the other two guys who played with them to come, and she certainly didn't either. She wasn't sure if it was a date, or exactly _what_ it was, but she enjoyed it, so she didn't ask many questions.

When they got to the bar, she took a seat on the stool, and Deacon moved around to the other side of the bar so he could get the bartender's attention. It was crowded in the bar, but not too crowded just yet. As Deacon ordered two beers from the bartender, Rayna watched him, and felt her nerves go on edge— _what_ was _this?_ She asked herself, not for the first time that day. Every time she saw him, every time she _thought_ of him, she felt nervous, like her stomach was turning in on itself over and over again.

She was watching Deacon so intently, trying to sort through her own emotions, that she didn't notice the man staring at her until he was already directly next to her.

A thin guy with sandy blond hair and a cowboy hat leaned up against the bar, staring at her. He looked her up and down, his eyes traveling over her body, and she shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with his gaze. She felt Deacon's eyes on her, and she glanced up at him, giving a small roll of her eyes to indicate her displeasure.

The blond guy didn't notice, or else didn't care. Smirking, he leaned his head close to hers, "I have a _thing_ for redheads."

Rayna turned her head to him, but pulled it back slightly. She smiled a mock sweet smile, "Oh, do you? That's _real_ interesting, because I have a _thing_ for guys who aren't assholes." She stared at him "Unfortunately for you."

Ignoring her barb, the guy stepped closer and put his hand on her arm, his fingers moving up and down her forearm, "Come on, baby, I'm _real_ nice."

Rayna pulled her arm away just as Deacon came back holding two beers. He stared at the guy, who was still staring at Rayna.

"The lady said she's not interested." Deacon said, his voice serious.

The guy turned to look at Deacon, looking him up and down, assessing him, "And who the hell are you?"

Deacon, still holding the beers, shrugged, "Don't really matter who the hell I am. The lady said she ain't interested."

The guy looked between Deacon and Rayna; when he saw Rayna smiling at Deacon, the guy rolled his eyes and pushed himself up from the bar, stepping away from it. Deacon slid into his place and set the beers down on the bar.

The guy sneered at Deacon, "Whatever, man." He said, "She's probably a lousy lay, anyway." He laughed, and moved to turn around to head back to his friends.

Before he could manage it though, Deacon pushed himself up from the bar, and grabbed the guy by the shirtfront—he gripped the collar of the guy's button-down shirt between a tight fist and leaned his face in to the guy's. Deacon spoke through gritted teeth, "What the hell did you just say?" His eyes were wild, and rage seethed out of his body.

The guy sputtered a bit, taken by surprise, "Nothing, man. I didn't say anything."

Deacon smirked at him, "That's right, you didn't. Now," He tightened his grip on the shirt, "I suggest you apologize to the lady for _saying nothing_."

The guy looked behind Deacon's head at Rayna, who was watching the scene wide-eyed.

"I'm sorry, Miss." He said, his voice trembling slightly.

Deacon roughly released the guy's shirt, sending him stumbling back so quickly he nearly fell. "That's better." Deacon said, turning away from the guy, "Now get the hell out of here." He tossed the command over his shoulder, and took a seat next to Rayna.

She was staring at him, the look on her face a mixture of fear and something he couldn't quite name.

He pushed a bottle of beer towards her, and glanced down at the bar, suddenly a little embarrassed. She hadn't seen his temper yet, and while the display he just gave was only a little preview—just the tip of the iceberg, really—he felt nervous about it.

She grabbed the bottle of beer and brought it to her lips, "You didn't have to do that." She said, and then she took a drink. She made a face as it went down—she was discovering that, actually, she didn't much care for beer.

Deacon took a swig from his beer, and then set it back down on the bar. He was staring at the bottle when he spoke, "I know, I just…" He shrugged, "Couldn't help it." He finished, looking at her. "Seeing that creep with you, and hearing what he said, I just…"

Rayna reached out and placed her hand on his arm, smoothing her palm over his skin before she took her hand away, "Well, thank you."

Deacon smiled, "That was a great line you had back there, though. About having a thing for guys who aren't assholes."

Rayna laughed, "Well, I do." She said, smiling around the mouth of her beer bottle. Though, these days, it seemed she really only had a _thing_ for one very particular guy. She wasn't going to say _that,_ though. She chuckled, "You may have guessed that this wasn't my first time on this side of a 'I have a thing for redheads' line."

Deacon chuckled, "I got that, yeah."

Rayna set her bottle down, and pushed it between her hands on the bar, fidgeting. "It seemed… pretty protective, what you did." She leaned her head slightly forward, fishing without having to actually ask the question.

She wanted to ask him about the kiss on the cheek before the show tonight, she wanted to ask him why he was defending her honor like he was her boyfriend, but instead she danced around it—it was safer that way, probably.

Deacon shrugged, "I guess I am protective of you, yeah." He said, drawing a circle on the bar with his finger.

Rayna waited, sure there had to be more on the other side of that confession.

He looked up at her, and she swore something was on the tip of his tongue as they locked gazes, but then he looked away, "So, how's it feel to be a paid artist?" Deacon asked her, playing with the label on his bottle.

"It feels good." She said, beaming, "And weird. And I know it's not really even that much money, but just the idea that someone wants to pay to hear us sing is just… I don't even know how to describe it."

Deacon peeled the label back on his bottle, and then smoothed it back down again. "They ain't paying to hear _us_ Rayna, they're paying to hear _you_."

Rayna took a small sip of her beer, and shook her head, "You heard Watty back there. They're paying to hear us." She considered him for a moment, "Why _are_ you protective of me, Deacon?" She asked, surprised at herself for having the courage to ask the question at all. The incident a few minutes ago had been the most obvious, but she'd noticed it in little ways, too. She saw it in the way he guided her through doors, little comments he made, even the way he stood next to her on stage screamed that he was protecting her.

"I…" Deacon trailed off, still the more fascinated with his label, "You're my friend, Ray." He said.

She loved the way the nickname sounded coming out of his mouth; no one had ever really had a nickname for her—she was always Rayna, and she'd liked it that way. Until now.

She turned her head to the side, staring at him, her gaze soft, "Am I?"

Deacon looked at her then, and his fingers stilled on the label, "Yeah—aren't you?" He asked, his lips quirking up.

Rayna laughed, "I am, yeah."

They lapsed into silence, the din of the bar rising around them, each lost in their own thoughts about the other.

When they were finished with their beers, they walked into the night, grateful that it was a relatively cool one, all things considered. They were within walking distance of Deacon's place, but Rayna needed a ride back to Watty's, so Deacon opened the door of a cab that was waiting outside the bar.

She stepped off the curb, and turned to look at him, holding the door of the cab.

"Thanks, Deacon." She said, staring at him. Her eyes searched his for a moment, and then she leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to his lips. It was brief, but Rayna felt her heart jump into her throat at the contact. It felt _electric_.

When she pulled back and opened her eyes, Deacon was staring at her, his eyes wide—"I—I don't… No, Rayna, we can't…" He trailed off.

Rayna felt her face grow hot, and she raised a hand to her mouth, pressing it over her lips. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, and slid into the cab, closing the door. She gave the driver Watty's address, and as the cab driver pulled away, she forced herself to not look back at Deacon standing on the curb. Sighing, she wished she could sink down into the backseat of the cab and disappear entirely.

She felt the white-hot tears burning behind her eyelids as she shut her eyes in the back of the cab. She felt like an idiot; this whole time she'd been imagining there was something between him, and it turned out that he just saw her as a friend. That reality was bad enough, but then she had actually gone and _kissed him_.

And worst of all, probably, was how much she'd _liked it_. The brief contact was enough to make her want to kiss him all the more. She'd done a little kissing before, made out with a guy at a party Tandy invited her to—she'd even gone a little further once—but she'd never felt anything quite like what she'd just felt kissing Deacon, even for a moment. Something tightened in her stomach when she felt his lips against hers, and a heat spread through her body unlike anything she'd ever felt before. And now she'd thoroughly embarrassed herself, and the thought troubled her. But it didn't trouble her nearly as much as the thought that she might never follow the feeling that only Deacon awakened within her—whatever it was—to the other side.


	7. September 12th, 1988(a)

_September 12_ _th_ _, 1988_

Deacon was sitting on the porch staring out at the sunset, half a beer growing warm next to him—it was his first and only of the night. The weather cooled off exponentially in the past week, and he was grateful for that, particularly since August was on track to be the hottest month of the year. Chad sat next to him, working on his third beer. They'd lapsed into a comfortable silence.

"So, I kissed Rayna." Deacon blurted out, staring straight ahead.

"Where?" Chad asked around his beer and a smile.

Deacon turned his head to look at him, "What the hell do you mean _where_?" Deacon smiled and shook his head, "On the damn lips."

Chad laughed, and set his beer on the porch, "It's a valid question, man."

"Not when it's about a 16-year-old, it ain't." Deacon returned, picking his beer up and taking a swallow of it. He made a face, and then turned it upside down, pouring it into the bushes next to the house.

Chad rolled his eyes, "Oh, please. And, anyway, she's 17 today, right? You still going over to see her?"

Deacon nodded, "Yep. And I guess I should say _she_ kissed _me_." Deacon shook his head at the memory, "I pulled away, and started mumbling the beginnings of why we couldn't… kiss."

Chad twirled one of his empty beer bottles around on the porch, the sound bouncing off the house, "Why? She ain't a good kisser?"

Deacon stared at him, "First of all, what did I tell you about saying 'ain't'? It just doesn't sound right when you say it, man." Deacon pointed at him, "And second of all, shut the hell up."

Deacon thought back to the brief kiss a few weeks ago, remembered the feeling of her soft lips, the feeling that spread quickly through his body at the contact; it was a quick kiss, but it was damn sure a good one, there was no doubt about _that_.

Deacon sighed, staring at the sun heading down into its bed, "She's just… too good for me, man."

"Ain't" With his use of the word, Chad looked pointedly at Deacon, "A woman around who _isn't_ too good for you, Claybourne." Chad smirked, and then clapped him on the back, "Look, man, I know you have this whole _tortured artist-songwriter_ thing going on, and it's cool and all, but…" Chad trailed off, pulling a face as he looked Deacon up and down.

Deacon turned to look at him, "I forgot to tell you," He snapped his fingers, like he was just remembering something, "Yesterday Whitesnake called while you were out. Told me to tell you they want their hair back." He looked down at Chad's tight pants, stretched over his skinny legs, "And their pants back, too." Deacon laughed, narrowing his eyes, "And, anyway, I thought you said me and Rayna was a bad idea."

Chad grinned, and shrugged, "What do I know?"

Deacon shook his head, "Not much."

Chad downed the rest of his beer and then turned to look at Deacon, "Look, I think what you need to ask yourself is this," Chad put his arm around Deacon's shoulder, "And I'm gonna get real serious here, man, so I want you to stay with me for a second," Chad leaned in closely to Deacon, speaking dramatically, "You need to ask yourself… 'Is this love… that I'm feeling? Is this the love that I've been searching for? Is this love… or am I dreaming?'" Chad finished, his face close Deacon's, staring at him intently.

Deacon narrowed his eyes, and then a loud burst of laughter erupted from him, "Did you just…" Deacon shook his head as his shoulders shook with laughter.

Chad removed his arm from Deacon's shoulder, and gathered the empty beer bottles up. He pointed at Deacon, "Expect another call from Whitesnake tomorrow, asking for their lyrics back," Chad said, standing up. He headed for the front door, and then turned around to face Deacon, "Look, when you first told me about this Rayna chick… yeah, I thought it was a bad idea. She's from a mansion in Belle Meade, and you're from… wherever the hell it is you're from," Chad said, "And hell, maybe it's still a bad idea, I don't know. But what I _do_ know is that I've seen y'all sing together," Chad trailed off, turning his head to the side, "Yeah, probably shouldn't say 'y'all' either, huh?"

Deacon shook his head, "Probably not." He stood and turned to face Chad on the porch, "And what do you mean 'you've seen us sing together'?"

"I mean," Chad said, pulling the front door open, "That I might dress like I just stepped off a Cheap Trick album, but I know that what the two of you do up on that stage? It's not normal." Chad smiled, "That type of chemistry might be worth exploring no matter how _bad of an idea_ it is," Chad clicked his tongue, "No matter how scared of it you might be." Chad walked inside, closing the front door behind him.

"I ain't scared!" Deacon shouted at the closed door. "I ain't scared." He mumbled to himself, leaning against the support beam of the porch. As the last vestiges of sunlight disappeared, he wondered if repeating a lie made it more or less true.

With a heavy sigh, he went inside to retrieve his guitar, and the small gift he had for Rayna.

. . .

Deacon stopped at a grocery store on the way to Watty's house and purchased a balloon and a cupcake. By the time he got to Watty's house, he considered leaving one or both of them in the car, feeling a bit silly.

Instead, he stood at Watty's door with his guitar in one hand, a balloon and cupcake in the other, and a small package tucked under his arm. He reached out, precariously balancing the cupcake, and pressed the doorbell. He felt suddenly nervous, which was so outside of his default state that the realization made him even more nervous.

Things between them had been relatively normal for the last three weeks, if a little more subdued. He could tell she was embarrassed, and he was, too, but he didn't know what to say that wouldn't make the situation worse—the only things he _wanted_ to say were the things that would lead them into dangerous territory. In fact, the things he wanted to say would lead them, he suspected, into the _exact_ territory he'd promised Watty he wouldn't even _be_ interested in… entering in the first place. They'd played three more gigs since then, two of them paid—one at a small fair on Labor Day, just last week, and Deacon felt himself becoming more and more in awe of her.

Her voice was beautiful, but it was the way she lit up the stage that really struck him—the way she _took_ the stage, like it was the only place in the whole world she ever wanted to be, like it was the only place in the world she was ever _meant_ to be. Deacon had never really been one to believe in fate; it's a little hard to have that sort of a romanticized view of the world when you grew up the way he did, but the more he saw of Rayna Jaymes, the more he thought there just might actually be something to the idea.

However it was he ended up on this porch tonight, armed with a balloon and a cupcake, Deacon wasn't sure he much cared. He reached out and knocked again, trying to will his stomach to steel.

When she swung the door open, his stomach lurched, and he knew it was no use. Deacon saw the shock cross her face—she wasn't expecting to see him, but then he watched a smile spread across her face as she took his presence on Watty's doorstep in.

She was dressed in sweatpants and a tank top, and her hair was tied into a ponytail at the back of her head. He could clearly see the freckles dotting her nose, and the word 'adorable' came immediately to mind, unbidden.

"Happy birthday," He grinned at her.

"Hey," She said, laughing as she held the door open, "Thank you."

He stepped inside, and she closed the door behind him. He set his guitar case down, and turned to face her. He stuck out his hand with the cupcake in its little container. She took it, and then he handed her the balloon; laughing, she took that too.

"It's white cake with chocolate frosting," He told her, then, "The cupcake, not the balloon."

Rayna laughed, "I figured." She peered at the cupcake, "That's my favorite kind."

Deacon took the present from under his arm and ran his hand over the back of his neck, "Yeah, you, uh, mentioned that once."

She looked at him, and her eyebrows shot up, "Did I?"

Deacon nodded, and she led him over to the sectional couch. "It'll fit right in with my theme for the night," She said, pointing to the coffee table. Deacon's eyes followed her hand, and he laughed when he saw that the table was filled with popcorn, candy, chips, and a plethora of other junk food.

Deacon looked at her and smiled, "A birthday feast."

Rayna blushed slightly, "Yeah." She shrugged, "Tandy took me to the spa today, and then to an early dinner, but she had to get back to Vanderbilt for a test tomorrow, and Watty's at the studio, so I thought I'd need some snacks." She sat on the couch and popped an M&M in her mouth. She gestured to the TV, "The perils of having your birthday fall on a Monday," she sighed, smiling. "I'm glad to see you, though." Her voice was quiet.

Deacon smiled, suddenly aware that they were very much alone in this house. He glanced at the TV, where Sixteen Candles was paused on a frame of Molly Ringwald. "The Breakfast Club is better," Deacon nodded at the TV, sitting down on the couch next to her.

Rayna laughed, "Actually, I agree." She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, "There's just something about Judd Nelson in that one." She chuckled, "I like a good bad boy." Her eyes were sparkling, a small smile playing on her face.

"Is that right?" He asked, smiling.

She nodded, "It is." She noticed the wrapped package he was holding a bit awkwardly in his hands, "Is that… for me?" She asked, reaching for another M&M from the bowl.

Deacon looked at the package in his hand, "Oh, uh, yeah." He stretched his hand out to offer her the package, "It's just… a little something, not anything special."

She took the package and looked at him, turning her head to the side as she considered him, a strange look in her eye. "Thank you," She said, bringing the package into her lap. It was wrapped in simple brown paper, and the edges were jagged as she slid her finger underneath to pull it open.

Deacon watched as she carefully peeled the paper back and unwrapped the present. He saw her face change as she took in what it was. She opened the leather-bound notebook, and flipped through the pages. Her eyes were bright when she looked at him.

He ran his hand through his hair, "You probably have a million nicer ones, I just… I made this for you, for songwriting."

Rayna's eyes widened, and she looked down at the notebook again, "You _made_ this?" She asked, looking back up at him.

Deacon nodded. "Yeah." Growing up the way he did, he had to find ways to occupy his time—outside of the guitar; he'd always loved working with his hands, so he found various hobbies that kept him at school for as long as possible.

"It's beautiful, Deacon." She said, her voice full of awe, "Thank you so much." She closed the notebook.

Deacon shrugged and smiled, pleased that she liked the gift. "You're welcome. That's part one." He said, grinning.

Rayna eyed him, "What's part two?"

Deacon stood from the couch and retrieved his guitar from where he'd set it by the front door. When he returned, he made a little room on the coffee table, opened his guitar case, and took out his guitar.

"Part two… is a guitar lesson." He held the guitar out to her.

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head, setting the journal on the couch next to her, "Oh, Deacon," She laughed as she took the guitar from him, "You don't know what you're getting yourself into." She pulled it into her lap, and positioned it.

"Apparently not," Deacon chuckled, "Ray, you're going to want to flip that thing around." His shoulders shuddered with laughter.

"Okay," She said, flipping the guitar around, "But just remember… I warned you."

He handed her a pick, "Do you know all the chords?"

Rayna smiled, "I know two." She bit her lip, "Well, one and a half."

Deacon went through the chords with her, watching as her hand made the changes—or, kind of made them, anyway. She strummed the guitar, but it wasn't smooth, and she kept forgetting where her fingers went. G, she said, was the hardest, and Deacon watched her slender fingers try to press the steel down into the fretboard. With anyone else, he would have been frustrated; it turns out she wasn't even remotely lying when she said she wasn't very good with guitars. But with Rayna, Deacon found he had a reserve of patience he was not previously aware he even possessed. When an hour passed and her fingers were red, he decided to call the lesson for the day.

As he took the guitar from her and put it back in the case, she looked at the tips of her fingers, and then back at him, "Playing guitar hurts." She said, rubbing her fingers together, "And you do this all the time?"

Deacon clicked the case closed, "Doesn't hurt as much as a lot of things do," He said, setting the case on the floor next to the couch, "You do get used to it, though." He looked at her, and then reached forward and grabbed a handful of M&Ms. He popped a few into his mouth.

"You get used to it?" She asked, leaning back into the couch.

"You get callouses." Deacon said, putting the rest of the M&Ms into his mouth. He held out his palm, there were colorful streaks on his skin as he showed her his hand, "It's not true what they say about these things," Deacon nodded to the bowl of M&Ms, "They definitely melt in your hand."

Rayna laughed as she looked at his hand, "Wow," She exhaled, looking at his fingers. Gingerly, she reached her hand out, and ran her fingers over his.

Deacon shifted in his seat at the unexpected contact, at her small hand in his, he noticed, significantly larger one. Her palm was so smooth and soft as she ran it over his, her fingers lightly skating over his own—such a contrast to the rough callouses on his hand. He smiled as she looked at him.

"I'm not sure I want callouses," She considered him, "They suit you though." She concluded, placing her hands in her lap.

Deacon laughed, "I actually don't think you're in any danger of that, Ray. I thought you were exaggerating, but..."

"Shut up!" She reached out and swatted him on the arm, but she was laughing, "Anyway, I did tell you."

He smiled, "So you did."

Rayna looked at the clock on the wall, "Oh." She looked at him shyly, "I have to go outside." She looked at him, "Can you give me five minutes? You can come out there after that." She nodded her head, indicating Watty's patio.

Deacon didn't understand, but he nodded, "Sure."

Deacon watched her walk out of Watty's sliding glass door; he grabbed a Frito from the coffee table, and then made his way to the kitchen, washing the rainbow from the M&Ms off his hand. He couldn't get the feeling of her soft, warm hands fluttering over his palm out of his head.

He knew it from the first night they met, but he was sure now more than ever that he hadn't met anyone quite like her before. And somehow, he knew he never would again. Deacon thought about Chad, about his Nashville sensibilities in his big city pants. Deacon hadn't told Chad everything about where he came from; in fact, he hadn't really told anyone. But Chad knew enough, and still, Chad told him that maybe it would be worth it to see what Deacon Claybourne and Rayna Jaymes could be together.

But Deacon's past told him a different story, told him what kind of blood he had in his veins. His past tattooed on him the knowledge of the infinite ways you can hurt the people you love the most, even when you don't mean to. Deacon shook his head, if he didn't stop thinking about Rayna Jaymes in the same breath as 'love,' he was going to be in very serious trouble.

Shaking his head, he checked the clock, and made his way to the sliding glass door. When he opened it, he saw Rayna sitting in the dark on the porch, staring up at the sky. He couldn't make much of her out since the moon was only 2 days old, but in that moment, he didn't need to see much of her to know that he was already very much in trouble.


	8. September 12th, 1988(b)

_September 12_ _th_ _, 1988_

Rayna stared up at the night sky. It was mostly black, with stars dotting its expanse. Watty's ranch property was far enough away from everything that you could get a real look at the stars. She wrapped her arms around herself, looking at the brightest one she could find.

"I'm 17 today, Momma," She whispered, "Right exactly now, actually. 9:07pm." She laughed a little, "I keep thinking of you in that hospital room, giving birth to me—you used to always tell me how my little lungs started working from the very second I came out." She inhaled sharply, feeling the cool night air fill her lungs, "They still do. Thank you for that." She felt the tears sting her eyes, but she didn't try to hold them back, "I know I say the same thing every year, but… it's still true every year. I wish you were here to see me now. To hold me, to sing me happy birthday at the exact moment I was born like you did every year before you..." Rayna sighed, "I wish you were here to see me sing, to see me write songs, to see me get paid to do what I love—I can't believe it sometimes. I think you'd be _so_ proud, Momma." Rayna bit her lip, "I wish you were here to tell me what to do about this boy. About this… man. This guy." She laughed, "I wish you were here to tell me which of those I should use to describe him." She swiped at the tears on her cheeks, "Mostly, I just wish you were here to do anything. Anything at all, really." She smiled, " _I miss you_ , and I love you more than all the stars in the sky."

She heard the sliding glass door open, and swiped at her tears one more time, sniffling a little. She turned to look at Deacon, thankful for the blackness that surrounded her.

"Hey," She said, as he walked over to where she was.

Apparently, he didn't need to see her to know she was upset, "You okay?" He asked, taking a seat in the chair next to her.

She tilted her head up to look at the stars just above them, "Yeah." She said, "Birthdays are hard." Her voice was a whisper.

"I know." He said, and tipped his head back to look at the stars, too.

She waited for him to say something—most people did. They tried to relate, tried to make it better, tried to be helpful. She appreciated that, but there were times when words weren't really necessary, especially when they couldn't fix anything in the first place. When Deacon didn't speak, she smiled, pleasantly surprised to be left with the silence and the knowledge that Deacon Claybourne wasn't like most people. Which, of course, she already knew.

She was still staring at the stars a few moments later when she spoke, "Do you ever just get overwhelmed by it?" She asked, "How… expansive the universe is?" She brought her knees up, resting her feet on the chair, and wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging them to herself.

The corner of Deacon's mouth turned up, "All the damn time." He kept his eyes on the stars.

She brought her head down, resting her right cheek on her arm, and turned to look at him, "But then it feels crowded sometimes, too. Like there's not enough room in the world, y'know?"

Deacon turned his head to face her, "Yeah," He nodded, staring at her, "I sure do."

She smiled, and then she felt the sadness overwhelm her again. She was still looking at him, barely able to make out his features. "I miss my mom."

"I know." His voice was gentle, calm.

"Tandy's getting married, and it's got me thinking. It's been almost 5 years without my mom now, and so much has happened already." Rayna pressed her cheek into her forearm, hugged her legs a little tighter to her body, "And sometimes I just think about how the list of all the things she's going to miss just keeps getting longer, and longer. About how it'll never stop growing, that list."

Deacon stretched his legs out in front of him, leaning back into the chair. "You don't think she sees?"

Rayna bit her lip, "Sometimes I'm sure she does. Sometimes I can feel her around me like she never left." She turned her gaze to the wall in front of her, resting her chin on her forearm, "Others, I'm not so sure."

Deacon sighed softly, "Then hold on to those moments where you can feel her." He told her, simply.

Rayna smiled, "Good idea."

Deacon laughed, "I have 'em sometimes." He crossed his legs at the ankles; after a few moments of silence, his voice cut through, "So, how does it feel to be 17?"

Rayna dropped her legs to the ground, and looked at him. She shrugged, "The same." She thought for a second, "Different."

Deacon chuckled, "Yeah. I think they're all like that, birthdays."

Rayna laughed, "You act like you've had _so_ many more than I have."

"About to be three more than you have, actually." Anticipating her question, he laughed, "November 7th."

"Thank you for the balloon and the cupcake," Rayna said, "And the journal. Thank you for the journal." She said, even though she knew she'd already thanked him. It was so thoughtful, and it wasn't very often these days that someone did something thoughtful for her. She grinned, "I would like _one_ more present, though…"

Deacon's eyebrows shot up, "And what's that?"

Rayna turned in her chair to more fully face him, "Come to my sister's wedding with me." She rushed the words out, as though saying it faster would make him more likely to agree.

Deacon let out a laugh, "Oh, no."

"Come on… please?" Rayna leaned forward in her chair, "She's getting married next month. I have to go, and I don't want to go alone."

He shook his head, "Ask Watty."

She bit her lip, "I already did. He said no." She thought about it for a moment, "Actually, he said it _a lot_ more emphatically than you did just now, so I figure I have a better shot of convincing you."

He sighed, "Didn't your sister _just_ get engaged?"

Rayna nodded, "Yeah. When you have a lot of money, you can pretty much make it happen that fast." She rolled her eyes, even though she knew he couldn't see her in the dark. Her voice made it clear how ridiculous she thought it was.

Deacon laughed, "I wouldn't know anything about that."

She turned her head to the side, "No?"

He shook his head, "No. We grew up so poor. When I think about when I was a kid, I can't even remember ever not being hungry." He turned his head to look at the horizon, "Well, once. In first grade. Everyone was at recess, and I snuck in to the classroom and ate three lunches that weren't mine." Deacon's voice was quiet, "That was the first time I ever felt full." Deacon's voice was thick with memory, "The teacher knew it was me, but she didn't say anything. I think she knew things weren't so great at home." He shrugged, "But, hey, what we lacked in money, we made up for in love." He laughed bitterly.

She reached out and touched his knee, "Don't do that." She said, softly.

His gaze fell immediately to her hand on his knee, "Do what?" He asked, bringing his gaze to meet her eyes.

She removed her hand, and put it in her lap, suddenly self-conscious of her touch, "Make light of the situation." She squinted her eyes slightly, watching his face in the near-dark, "Tell me how you grew up, Deacon."

He sighed, but he wasn't mean when he spoke, "What do you want me to say, Rayna? I don't really like talking about it."

She chewed on her lip, "You don't have to, if you don't want to. I just…" Her voice was soft, almost embarrassed, "I want to know about you."

He stared at her, "Even if you don't like what you learn?"

"Even then." She said, her voice measured.

Deacon turned his head, knowing he couldn't speak if he was looking at her, even if he could barely see her. "My Dad was a mean son of a bitch. I don't just mean regular mean, either—I mean like…" He trailed off, searching for the word. "Evil." He shrugged, "Probably still is. He used to beat my Mama every night when he was drunk, sometimes even when he wasn't. Us, too, most nights, me and my sister." Deacon's voice was soft, but distant—like if he got too close to the memory, he wouldn't survive it this time. "My Mama, I loved her so much, but… I realize now, she just didn't know how to love me. Not really, you know?"

Rayna nodded, "Yeah," She whispered, "I do."

Deacon sighed, "Mothers are supposed to protect you."

Rayna nodded, feeling a lump form in her throat, "Yeah," She spoke around it, trying not to cry for Deacon, for herself.

Deacon dropped his gaze to his hands, rubbing them together, "She tried, though, in her own way." He shook his head, "She… had a lot going on, and when I really think about it, I know she tried."

"Sometimes that's all you can ask of people." Rayna whispered, her eyes wet with emotion.

Deacon stared at his hands, watching the way his fingers fit together. He nodded, his voice thick, "Sometimes it is."

The silence hung between them for a moment, before Rayna broke it with a soft "Thank you."

Deacon looked up at her, "For what?"

"For sharing that with me." When Deacon was quiet, Rayna smiled, "And for agreeing to go to the wedding with me."

Thankful for her swift change of subject, Deacon laughed a little, and held out his hands in front of him, "Hey, wait a minute, I _didn't_ agree to that!"

Rayna sighed, "Come on, Deacon! I can't face Daddy alone."

Deacon shook his head, "Rayna… saying that he'll be meeting the Godfather of Nashville…that is _not_ the way to convince a guy to do something for you."

Rayna laughed, "Well, I don't actually have very much experience in convincing guys to do things for me," She tapped her fingers on her knee.

"Oh," Deacon breathed out through his nose, "I somehow very much doubt _that_." Deacon chuckled, "Don't you have a friend you can take?"

"I…" Rayna trailed off, staring at the darkness in front of her. She really, really didn't. "Not really." She finished, picking at an imaginary piece of lint on her sweatpants.

"I'll go." Deacon whispered, quietly.

Still looking ahead, Rayna smiled, "Thanks, Deacon."

Deacon sighed, "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

Rayna stood, and headed back to the sliding glass door. "No," She breathed it out, laughing a little as she opened the sliding glass door.

Deacon stood up and followed her, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him, "You're a terrible liar, Rayna Jaymes," he said, smiling at her as he sat next to her on Watty's couch.

For the next hour and a half, they sat around talking with Sixteen Candles playing in the background—they ate M&Ms by the handful, tried combining junk foods that should never be combined (Fritos and M&Ms with a jellybean topper just really did _not_ work together). When the movie was over, and the tape was rewinding, Deacon pulled out a lighter, lit the single candle on the cupcake, and sang a quiet rendition of 'Happy Birthday.'

Smiling, she closed her eyes to make a wish—from the time she was 9 years old, she'd made the same wish: to be a successful country singer. It had evolved over the years, gotten longer (at 10, she outlined the various rhinestone encrusted clothing she wanted to wear as said country singer), shorter (at 11, just a country singer). When she was 13, she wished for her mother back. She knew it was impossible, but she didn't feel right wishing for anything else that year. But every year, except for 13, she'd wished for the same thing.

As she opened her eyes to blow out the candle, she felt a nervous rush of energy as she realized that she'd wished for something else entirely this year. She smelled the scent of the blown-out candle, and glanced at Deacon.

"Did you make a good wish?" He asked her, removing the candle.

She blushed, but smiled at him, "I think so." She took the cupcake he proffered.

She broke the cupcake in half and held one half out to Deacon.

"Thanks," Deacon said, taking the cupcake and biting into it.

When the cupcake was gone, Deacon looked at the clock on the VCR – 12:01.

"Well, since your birthday's over, I guess I better get on home." He stood up and grabbed his guitar case, heading for the door.

Rayna stood and followed him, "Thanks again, Deacon." She said, pulling the door open for him.

He turned around to face her, "You're welcome, Ray." He said, staring at her.

Rayna felt her blood rushing through her body as Deacon stood, staring at her. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears and she briefly wondered if he could hear it, too; his eyes flickered to her lips, and he chuckled softly.

"You've got a little…" He said, bringing his thumb up to her bottom lip. "Frosting," he said, wiping it away.

Rayna flushed, "Thanks," She said, running her tongue over her lips, watching as Deacon's eyes followed the path of her tongue.

He leaned forward, and she held her breath, sure he was going to kiss her. She closed her eyes, and tilted her head up slightly—she felt Deacon's hand on the back of her head, and then felt his lips press softly against her forehead.

"Night, Ray." He whispered against her forehead, "Happy birthday."

She felt him pull away, and when she opened her eyes he was walking towards his truck, his guitar case in his right hand. Rayna raised her hand to her forehead, feeling the spot where Deacon's lips had just been. As he got in his truck and drove away, Rayna leaned against the wall on Watty's porch, her hand resting lightly over her heart, willing it to slow down, knowing that it wouldn't.


	9. September 21st, 1988

_September 21_ _st_ _, 1988_

The sun had been up for three hours now, and the sunlight was casting shadows throughout the rustic kitchen that admittedly didn't get much use. Rayna was sitting at the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal in front of her.

She pushed the cereal down into the milk a couple of times, "You sure you don't mind me staying with you, Watty? I could start looking for a place." She'd had three paying gigs since that first one, and she had another one lined up for this coming weekend.

Watty, standing on the other side of the counter, smiled at her, "Nah, I like having you around; you can stay as long as you want. It's a big house, I might as well share it."

Rayna considered him as she brought a spoonful of cereal to her mouth. "Why'd you never get married, Watty?" She questioned, before she took the bite.

He stared at her, amusement in his eyes, "What was it you were saying about looking for a place again?" He chuckled and shook his head, "You ask too many questions; anyone ever tell you that?"

She laughed, "Once or twice." She crunched her cereal, "So, why didn't you?"

Rayna watched as Watty got a faraway look in his eyes, "I loved someone once." He replied, smiling wistfully. His eyes were soft, and Rayna thought he looked at least ten years younger.

Rayna dipped her spoon into her bowl and pushed the cereal around in the milk, "Just once?" She asked, curious.

Watty looked at her, his blue eyes staring gently into hers, "Sometimes once is enough." Watty shook his head, and it seemed like he was trying to dislodge a memory, or maybe he was trying to hold on to it, "Have you heard from Deacon today?"

Rayna dropped her spoon, her appetite suddenly gone, "Yeah." She said, picking up her bowl and bringing it to the sink. "He's going to come over later and we're going to try to write together."

Watty raised his coffee mug to his lips; peering at her over the edge of the cup, he smiled, "Be careful there." He took a sip, and then set it on the kitchen counter.

Rayna dumped her cereal into the sink, turned on the water, and watched the remnants of her breakfast swirl down the drain. "What are you talking about?" She asked, shutting the faucet off.

Watty smirked, "You know what I'm talking about."

Rayna rolled her eyes, "Oh, please. I'm pretty sure Deacon thinks of me as his annoying kid sister or something." She turned the faucet back on.

Watty laughed, "Yeah, okay." His tone was incredulous. He pointed a finger at her, "Be careful. I've seen you two together, I don't want to see you get…"

Rayna flipped the switch for the garbage disposal, drowning out the end of Watty's sentence, "What?" She shouted over it, laughing as she looked at him.

He pointed his finger at her again and shook his head, but he was laughing. "Be careful." He mouthed, picking up his coffee cup and moving into the living room, heading for the stairs.

Rayna turned the disposal off. "Thanks, Watty." She called after him as she washed her bowl and spoon in the sink.

"Yeah," He threw over his shoulder as he walked up the stairs.

Rayna set the bowl on the counter, and then turned around and leaned against the sink. Things with Deacon had been weird lately. She'd sworn he was going to kiss her outside of the bar that night before Tandy interrupted them, but then he'd never mentioned it again. Then, she was _sure_ he was going to kiss her on the night of her birthday, but he'd just kissed her on the forehead—which seemed, to her, like the kissing equivalent of ruffling someone's hair. She just couldn't get a read on the situation, or on how he _actually_ felt about her.

Of course, she didn't have the most experience with guys, but she thought it really should be easier to figure out.

Turning around, she picked up a dishtowel and began to dry the bowl and spoon. As she reached into the cupboard to put them away, something her momma used to tell her came back to her—"Don't worry about everyone else. Focus on how _you_ feel." She'd told her.

Rayna might like to do that, except for one problem: how _she_ felt about Deacon scared the absolute hell out of her.

. . .

Deacon showed up at noon, right on the dot. Rayna swung the door open and greeted him with a wide smile.

He took his sunglasses off and slid them into his shirt pocket, "Hey." He greeted her, smiling.

"Hey," She held the door open as he came in.

She closed the door and turned to face him—he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, what she had come to think of as his usual attire. The t-shirt was a blue color that really brought out his eyes. Rayna skated her eyes over his chest, noticing how his muscles were visible through the shirt. She colored slightly at the thought, not used to noticing those sorts of things. He was holding his guitar case and a large brown paper bag.

When he saw her looking at the bag, he held it up, "Lunch." He explained, smiling at her.

She smiled, hoping he hadn't seen where her eyes had gone just a moment before they landed on the bag.

"Watty's gone, but I was thinking…" She bit her lip, "It's such a beautiful day, maybe we could write outside?"

Deacon nodded, "Sounds good."

Rayna gathered a blanket and some lemonade and they headed out to Watty's backyard. Walking down the would-be horse trails, they stopped at a spot just underneath a Scarlet Oak. Deacon took the red blanket from her and spread it out over the Kentucky bluegrass that was in desperate need of a mow. He set his guitar case next to the blanket, and then tossed the lunch bag on the blanket. Rayna set the bottles of lemonade next to the brown paper bag, and situated herself on the blanket. Deacon followed suit, sitting down next to her and tucking his legs underneath him.

Deacon held his hands out, one over the guitar, one over the lunch bag, "Lunch or song first?"

Rayna felt her stomach grumble and she laughed, "Lunch, I think."

"Good choice," Deacon said, reaching for the bag. He reached inside and pulled out two sandwiches and some napkins, "Turkey or ham?" He asked.

Rayna smiled, "Turkey, please." She reached to take the sandwich from him.

She unwrapped the sandwich, and lifted the bread, peering inside.

Deacon paused mid-unwrap to look at her, "Everything okay?"

Rayna nodded, and then slid her fingers into the sandwich, gingerly plucking out the tomatoes and setting them on the sandwich wrapper.

Deacon finished unwrapping his sandwich, "Not a fan of tomatoes?" His voice was amused.

Rayna shook her head. Deacon chuckled, and took a bite of his sandwich. Rayna picked up a napkin and began dabbing it at places on the inside of her sandwich.

Deacon swallowed his bite, "Rayna? What are you doing?"

She stopped moving the napkin, and pulled it out from the sandwich, holding it up so he could see. Seeds and tomato juice dotted the napkin, "They leave behind their guts." She explained, setting the napkin down and closing her sandwich.

Deacon twisted the top off a bottle of lemonade, watching Rayna as she brought the sandwich up to her lips and took a small bite. "You got all the tomato essence out of there?" He teased.

Laughing, she nodded as she chewed.

They talked and ate their sandwiches, enjoying the feel of the cool weather, the 70-degree day a very welcome break from the heat that August wrought.

"I can't believe my sister's wedding is already next weekend." Rayna said, taking a sip of lemonade.

"I can't believe I have to go to that wedding," Deacon shook his head, smiling as he popped the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth.

Rayna set her sandwich down, suddenly not very hungry. The idea of spending a night with Deacon somehow tended to do that to her, she was learning. The thought of him at all, actually.

"I'm supposed to give a toast." Rayna said, shuddering a bit, "I'm the maid of honor, but I don't know what to say." She sighed, "I'd rather do a song or something. But, that wouldn't go over too well, what with Daddy..."

Deacon shrugged, gathering his trash and stuffing it in the brown bag, "Rayna, trust me, you singing will _always_ go over well. Maybe not with your Daddy, but it ain't his wedding." He winked at her, "If you want to sing a song, sing a song."

Rayna laughed, "That motto's gotten me this far, I guess." She sighed, stretching her legs out in front of her, "Speaking of songs…"

Deacon's eyes ran over her legs, the expanse of them afforded to him by the cutoff shorts she was wearing. They came down to just above her mid-thigh, but it was enough. He shook his head, then looked at her face, grateful to find she hadn't caught him staring.

"You done?" He indicated her sandwich. At her nod, he scooped it up and put it in the bag, tossing it off to the side of the blanket. He leaned over and opened his guitar case, pulling the guitar out and situating it in his lap, "I think I'll take care of the guitar part this time," He said patting his guitar and grabbing a pick from his case.

Rayna laughed, tucking her feet underneath her on the blanket, "Oh, very funny." She said, reaching behind her to grab the notebook he'd given to her.

Deacon tuned the guitar, strumming lightly on each string individually. "Have you written anything in it yet?" He looked at the journal in her hands.

Rayna smiled shyly at him as she ran her hand over the soft leather of the cover. She shook her head, "No, I wanted to save it for something special," her voice was quiet.

She couldn't remember which of them had suggested writing together first, but they'd been talking about it for weeks. When he'd given her the journal, she'd wanted to fill it with her songs, with her thoughts, with any and every thing. But, as she sat on her bed at Watty's house, pen poised over the paper of the journal, it just didn't feel right. The journal was so special, she felt like she should save it for something special. When they'd made their writing plans, she figured that would be the perfect thing—the perfect thing to christen the thoughtful present.

He plucked a few notes on the guitar, "Ready, Rayna?" He asked, smiling at her.

She nodded, then considered him for a moment, her brow slightly furrowed, "How come you call me Rayna now, instead of Ray?" She surprised herself by asking the question, but she'd noticed that since a few days after her birthday, he'd stopped calling her the nickname. She was a bit embarrassed she even noticed, but when he'd first come up with it, she'd loved the way it sounded falling from his lips—and, truth be told, she _missed it_.

Deacon shrugged, "Oh, Ron told me you asked him not to call you that. He said you didn't like it."

Ron was the bass player that played with them at most of their gigs. She remembered telling him that a few weeks back—they'd been going over something for one of their gigs, and he'd called her Ray. She'd politely told him that she didn't like to be called that, and that actually she preferred Rayna. Of course, that wasn't _exactly_ true these days, though it had been for much of her life. Somehow, when Deacon called her that, she didn't mind a bit—she _liked_ it.

Rayna felt the color grow in her face, and she looked out at the pasture in front of her, "I…" She trailed off, "I like it when _you_ call me that." She felt the sting behind her eyes, the vulnerability of what she just admitted making her feel on edge. She couldn't look at him.

"Oh." He breathed the word out, and she heard the smile in his voice, "Okay." He propped his guitar up and ran the pick down the strings, "You ready, Ray?"

She smiled then and turned to look at him, nodding.

Rayna had never really written _with_ anyone before. It was usually a solo exercise for her, a private venture she mostly kept to herself. She'd only ever written a bit with Watty, but she already knew that writing with Deacon was different. Very different—she felt nervous, and excited, and a bit terrified. Songwriting could be so damn personal, she knew, and she was terrified to get personal with Deacon, despite the fact that she'd found herself wanting very little but to get personal with Deacon these past few weeks.

So as the melody carried on the wind, she felt so many emotions swirling inside of her. When silence fell, she looked down at her paper; they'd written the first verse, but suddenly they found themselves stuck, unable to move forward.

Deacon turned the guitar over and placed it in his lap, staring at her, "Ray," he said, his voice belying a bit of his frustration, "I feel like… You're not being honest here." He gestured to the notebook, where the lyrics they'd written stared back at them.

Rayna eyed him suspiciously, "What?" She narrowed her eyes, and ran her hand through her hair, thinking about it, "Well… you don't strike me as being particularly honest here, either."

Deacon shrugged, "It's your song."

She scoffed, "I thought it was _our_ song." She'd come up with most of the first verse, but she thought this whole thing was a joint effort.

"It _is,_ but…"Deacon plucked a string with his finger, the note floating up into the air. "Tell me something about yourself."

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, "Like what?"

Deacon plucked the next string down, "Something true. Anything."

Rayna chewed her lip, thinking. "Hmmm…" Settling on a thought, she smiled, "I used to be scared of _everything_."

Deacon's surprise registered across his face, "You?" He shook his head, laughing a little, "I can't imagine you being scared of anything."

She nodded, "I was." She smiled at a memory, "We went to an apple farm on a field trip in kindergarten. We all got to drop an apple into some sort of grinder to make juice or pies or something, I don't know what. All the other kids were _excited_ as we stood in that single file line. Me? I was crying." She chuckled, rolling her eyes a bit.

Deacon tapped his fingers on his guitar, the hollow sound echoing, "Crying?"

Rayna nodded, smiling, "They gave a warning before we got in line—something like 'make sure you don't get your fingers too close when you drop the apple in, because the grinder could get your fingers.'" She shook her head, "Every other 5-year-old just shook it off, but I was _so scared_. I cried the entire time we were in line, I cried as I was dropping that apple in, and I cried for a good ten minutes afterwards."

Deacon turned his head to the side and considered her, "What changed?"

Rayna shrugged, "My worst fear _happened_." Rayna felt the emotion sweep over her and she shook her head to keep it at bay, "I guess things don't seem so scary after that."

Deacon stared at her, his gaze soft as he ran his eyes over her face. Rayna felt her heartrate quicken, felt her stomach start to churn. The way he looked at her sometimes set her on fire and soothed her all at once—she was still working out how one look from a particular person could do both of those things at the same time.

His voice was soft, pensive; "You ain't scared of anything anymore?"

Rayna considered him, taking in the way his eyes seemed endless as he looked into hers, but dropped her gaze to her lap as she spoke, "Maybe some things." She whispered quietly.

Deacon watched her, his eyes never leaving her face, "Like what?"

Rayna brought her gaze back to meet his eyes. She watched him for a moment longer, her eyes running over his face, "The way you're looking at me."

Deacon chuckled softly, amazed that he was able to make any noise at all after Rayna had just stolen his breath, "That scares me, too." He admitted, simply. He flipped his guitar back up into position, "Maybe we should write about that."

Rayna nodded, her throat suddenly dry, "Maybe we should."

They scrapped the first verse, and came up with a first line together. After that, Rayna was amazed at how easily everything flowed—at how easily everything flowed between _them_. They finished the song, and as Deacon placed his guitar back in his case and closed it, Rayna decided that _this_ was her new favorite song. _The Other Side of Fear_ was a bit long as far as titles went, but they couldn't imagine calling it anything else.

After his guitar was put away in his case, Deacon turned to look at her, "That's…" He sighed, and stretched his legs out in front of him, nudging her shoulder with his, "A really great song."

Rayna beamed at him, adrenaline still running through her, "Yes, it is." She stretched her legs out in front of her, and leaned her shoulder into him, smiling when he didn't pull away.

He turned his head to look at her, "So… what _is_ on the other side of fear?" He asked, his voice low.

Noticing how close his lips were to hers, Rayna's voice was serious when she spoke, "Everything." She whispered.

Rayna froze as she watched Deacon's eyes flicker down to her lips, and then back to her eyes. She tried to discern what he was thinking, but she couldn't read him. Her stomach worked itself over, and she couldn't look away from him. Last time she's closed her eyes in this moment, sure he was going to kiss her, he'd kissed her on the forehead. So, she watched as he inched closer and closer to her. She licked her lips in anticipation, and saw Deacon watch her tongue as it moved across her lips.

Next, his mouth was on hers, and she slammed her eyes shut. Rayna felt her breath hitch in her throat at the feel of his lips against hers—his lips were softer than she'd expected them to be, and the light scruff on his face was somehow rougher than she anticipated. She kissed him back, enjoying the way his mouth opened against hers, the way she felt his breath start to pick up as he kissed her. Without thinking, she ran her hand up his arm, her fingers tangling in the back of his brown hair.

Suddenly, his tongue slid into her mouth, and she ran her own tongue over it. She was surprised at the contact—she'd only kissed like this twice before, but it had _never_ felt like this. She'd never been kissed like _this_ before. The other times had been awkward and a bit sloppy. This time, she somehow felt like she _knew_ what to do; like it was the only thing she ever wanted to do.

Deacon swirled his tongue around hers and she heard herself make a noise against his mouth. As the noise briefly hung in the air between them, Rayna gasped a little as she realized it was a _moan_. Embarrassed at the sound she just made, she froze, and started to pull away from him. But Deacon, spurred on from her sound, gently grabbed the back of her head with his hand and deepened the kiss, threading his fingers into her hair. When she made a little noise and kissed him back, he slid his hand from her head to her back, easing her gently on to the blanket as she slid her knees up to help transition down. When her back was flat on the ground, he situated himself so he was propped over her, their upper bodies grazing lightly against one another. Rayna was amazed to notice that he never stopped kissing her, and her fingernails scraped through the hair right above his ears, and she hummed against his mouth.

Deacon pulled back and smiled against her, before kissing her again, his tongue slipping inside her mouth, tasting her.

She was breathless as he kissed her, and her heart was beating wildly in her chest. Her brain, for its part, was trying desperately to catch up to and process what was happening to her. Deacon placed his hand on her calf, tickling the smooth skin there a bit before sliding his hand to the outside, where he trailed his fingers with a feather-light touch up the outside of her thigh until his hand rested on her hip. She suddenly felt lightheaded. She twisted her hand further into his hair, holding him closer to her as they kissed.

She felt her stomach tighten, felt it grow warm as his thumb gently caressed her hip bone through her shorts—she could feel the heat of his thumb even through the denim. She heard a faint beeping in the background, but it was cloudy, buried under whatever madness was happening to her brain right now.

Suddenly, Deacon pulled away and stared at her for a moment, his breath coming raggedly, before he dragged his eyes down to his watch.

In the back of her mind, Rayna guessed that was what had made the beeping sound.

Deacon smoothed her hair back from her face, his eyes searching hers, "I have to go, Ray." He breathed, and then he leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips.

When he pulled back from her, she smiled, still feeling a little dazed and wide-eyed, still on her back on the blanket. He stood up, and she watched his eyes slowly travel from her feet to her head before he reached his hand down and helped her stand up.

He picked his guitar case up, and then tipped her head up, his finger resting gently under her chin. He kissed her lips, twice.

"Bye, Ray." He whispered.

She didn't trust her voice to speak, but she wanted to try anyway, "Bye, Deacon." Her voice was raspy, and she thought it strange to realize as her voice hit her ears that she didn't sound exactly like herself.

Deacon smiled, and then walked up the dirt trail, exiting Watty's backyard from the side. When he was gone, Rayna sat back down on the blanket, pulling her knees to her chest.

She ran her fingers over her lips, noticing how they felt swollen, how they felt thoroughly _kissed_. She closed her eyes and smiled, thinking of what had happened only moments before, thinking of Deacon's lips on her own, of his hands on her body.

She tried to figure out the feeling in her stomach that still lingered—it was nervous, but it was something _else,_ too—something _new_. She dropped her legs, and pressed a hand to her stomach, thinking about how when he kissed her, she'd felt the fire in her belly grow until she felt hot all over, her entire body tingling. Realizing where _exactly_ that feeling had traveled, she felt her skin flush—realizing for the first what she'd felt when Deacon kissed her, what she was discovering she felt when he even _looked_ at her.

She pushed her hair back from her face, running her fingers through it as a light breeze slid by. She was _finally_ able put a feeling to a word she'd heard so many times, to a feeling she'd imagined and wondered about for years. She smiled; so, _that_ was desire.


	10. September 30th, 1988

_September 30_ _th_ _, 1988_

Rayna was sitting cross-legged on her sister's childhood bed. She was wearing loose fitting pajama pants and a t-shirt she'd gotten at her first concert. It had a sizeable hole in the front, right near the bottom hem, but she was too nostalgic to throw it out.

Tandy was sitting across from her wearing a nightgown, a glass of red wine cradled in her hand. She took a sip, and handed it to Rayna, who took a long pull and then wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, feeling a little bit tipsy.

"I can't believe you're getting married tomorrow!" Rayna shouted, giggling a bit as she passed the wine back to Tandy. "I can't believe I'm back in this house!" She sighed, and plopped down on the bed, her legs still crossed underneath her.

Her father had given her a pass redeemable for one night back under his roof as a favor to Tandy on the eve of her wedding.

Tandy drained the glass of wine, and looked at Rayna, "Please. You've only been gone for like a month."

"It feels like I've been gone a lot longer than that, Tan Tan Bear," Rayna scrunched up her nose and laughed at the childhood nickname.

Tandy poured more wine in the glass. "There's one I hadn't heard in a long while." She passed the now-full glass to her sister.

Rayna took it, propping herself up on an elbow, and took a sip. Some of the red wine dribbled down her chin and on to the white comforter. "Oops!" Rayna laughed, wiping the wine from her chin. She tried to wipe the wine from the comforter with the edge of her black t-shirt, but it just seeped further in, fanning out across the white fabric of the bedspread.

Tandy laughed, taking the glass back, "And that's enough for you." She took a sip and put the wine on the nightstand next to the bed. "So," Tandy leaned back against the pillows on the bed, "Tell me about this _boy_ you're bringing to my wedding."

Rayna turned her head to look at her sister, "Is _that_ the term you're supposed to use? 'Boy'? I've been trying to figure it out, but none of it sounds right."

Tandy turned over onto her side, so she could face Rayna, "Tell me about him."

Rayna smiled, "Deacon." She said, swallowing hard, her heart racing at the mere mention of his name, "You met him."

Tandy nodded, "Mhmm. I did."

Rayna narrowed her eyes, "What?" She knew that tone, had heard Tandy give it all of her life.

Tandy lifted her head, propping herself up on her hand, her elbow digging into the pillow, "I didn't say anything."

Rayna sat up, leaning her back against the headboard of the bed, "You didn't have to. I _know_ you, I _know_ that look. I _know that tone_." Rayna stared at her, hard, " _What_?"

Tandy sighed, "It just seems like you're…" Tandy trailed off, "kind of _slumming_ it a bit, don't you think?"

Rayna scoffed, the anger rising in her immediately, "Oh, you know what, Tandy, you are just like Daddy, I swear. Y'all are just two peas in a damn pod."

Tandy sat up and opened her mouth to speak. Reading her intentions, Rayna cut her off.

"No." Rayna's voice was firm, her voice bouncing off the stark white walls, "You know what else? You don't even _know_ Deacon, you met him _one_ time for five minutes, so I don't really think you have any right to sit there and say—"

Tandy held her hands out in front of her, trying to calm Rayna down, "You're right, you're right." Her words stopped Rayna's tirade, "I shouldn't have said that," She reached for the wine glass and took a sip, "I'm _sorry_." When Rayna didn't look at her, she held out the glass of wine, dipping her head to catch her sister's eye, "Rayna, I _am_ sorry." Her voice was sincere.

"Say the thing about me being right again." Rayna stared at her sister.

Tandy bit back a smile, "You're _right_ , Rayna, I shouldn't have said that," Tandy shook the glass of wine a little bit, a peace offering.

Rayna glanced at her sister, rolled her eyes, and took the glass. Taking a long swig of it, she sighed. "Fine."

Tandy leaned over and nudged Rayna with her shoulder, "Tell me about him." She said, her voice quiet.

Rayna tapped her fingers on the stem of the wine glass, eyeing Tandy, trying to figure out if she really wanted to know, or if she was just trying to keep the peace. Rayna decided she didn't much care since she'd been dying to talk about it since it happened.

She leaned across Tandy and placed the wine glass on the end table. "Well… he kissed me last week."

Tandy's mouth dropped open, "And?" She asked, her eyebrows shooting up, "How was it?"

A smile crept over Rayna's face as the memory came to her; she remembered the feel of the scratchy blanket on her back, the soft feel of his lips against hers. His stubble had burned her chin, but she'd loved it. The feel of his hand sliding up her leg, resting on her hip. She'd lain in bed that night, tracing the circular pattern his thumb had made on her hipbone, closing her eyes and remembering his touch.

Tandy read her sister's look, "Uh oh." She whispered, "That good, huh?"

Rayna felt herself flush, "Tandy…" She trailed off, her voice heavy with the memory, "I've never been kissed like that before. Not ever. I felt…" Rayna searched for the word, unsure if she could say it out loud, even to her own sister.

"Rayna, I _know_ what you felt." Tandy laughed, "And you just answered your own question, by the way."

Rayna looked at her sister, puzzled, "What question?"

"Honey, by the look I just saw on your face, the _term_ you should use for Deacon is definitely _man_." She winked at her little sister, the wine making it a lazy wink.

Rayna rolled her eyes, "Oh, Tandy." She pressed her head back into the headboard and closed her eyes, "I don't know what to do!"

Tandy smirked, "Do I need to give you my patented sex talk again?"

Rayna's eyes flew open, "You really don't." She shuddered, and then dissolved into laughter, remembering three years ago when 18-year-old Tandy had given an almost 15-year-old Rayna a very clinical sex talk complete with photocopied pamphlets and diagrams.

Daddy had actually tried to give Rayna the sex talk initially, but he'd just stood in front of her as she sat on the couch and he'd turned about thirty different shades of red during the first two minutes. Rayna wanted to laugh and crawl deep into the cushions of the couch all at the same time. So, Tandy had been called in. After the pamphlets were distributed and prophylactics thoroughly discussed, her big sister gave her the same sex talk their Momma gave to Tandy two years before she'd died.

They'd sat on the bed, just like they were now, and Tandy told her how you could have sex without love, and love without sex, but how the one you _really_ had to watch out for was sex _with_ love. That, Tandy said by way of their Momma, didn't come around every day, but when it did, you'd better figure out whether you wanted to run like hell or stand there and face it, holding on to it with everything you had. And, Tandy had warned, you'd better figure it out quick, because either choice could mess you up but good.

Sometimes, Rayna felt envious of the experiences Tandy'd had with their Momma that she knew she would never get, but that night, as she lay with her big sister imagining the dashing men they would fall into love and into bed with, she just felt _grateful_ that she had her big sister to pass down their Momma's advice.

"So, what is it that you _want_ to do?" Tandy asked, shrugging.

Rayna bit her lip and looked at Tandy, the color flooding her cheeks again. Rayna felt the heat keep crawling up her neck, until she was sure her face was a deep crimson.

Tandy's eyes widened slightly, and then tears began filling them. She reached out and touched her sister's hair, smoothing her hand down the long copper strands.

"I knew this would happen someday." Tandy said, her voice wrought with emotion, "Please be careful." She whispered.

Rayna felt the tears spring to her eyes, too, and she was surprised by them. She was surprised, too, by the depth of her sister's reaction. Tandy hadn't exactly been like a mother to her, she was too young to really fill those shoes, but she _had_ been Rayna's only support system for a very long time. Tonight, it felt like they were both growing up in unexpected ways, and the thought was sad and exciting all at once.

Rayna reached up and covered her sister's hand with her own, "I will." She promised, blinking back the tears. She knew she would try to be, anyway.

Tandy dropped her hand, and leaned back on the pillow, tilting her head to the ceiling, "And remember… you have to play hard to get." This was a 'lesson' Tandy learned her senior year of high school, and one she'd passed down to Rayna every year since—it made them want you even more, she'd said, and helped protect your heart just a little bit.

Rayna shook her head, "I don't want to do that, Tandy." She drew small circles on the bedspread with her finger, "Deacon's life has been hard enough already."

Tandy nodded, still looking at the ceiling, the weight of what Rayna said weighing between them, "Okay." She let out a heavy sigh, "I can't believe I'm getting married tomorrow."

Rayna turned on her side to face her sister, "I know," She breathed, "I can't believe that after tomorrow night, you won't be a virgin anymore."

Tandy's mouth dropped, and she rolled her head to look at Rayna. When they caught each other's eyes, they both burst into thick laughter. They kept laughing until the tears rolled down their cheeks, the happiness bouncing off the walls, filling the room. Any other night, Lamar would have burst in, asking them to tone it down—but tonight, perhaps for the only night in the last five years, laughter was given a free evening pass, too.

After the laughter died down, Rayna curled up on her side and yawned. Staring at her big sister, she lowered her voice, convinced somehow that their Daddy could hear through walls the same way he seemed to be able to when they were little. "Does it… hurt?"

Tandy chuckled, reaching her arm out to run her fingernails through her little sister's hair, "A little." Her voice was a little sad but tender, "But… then it doesn't." She pursed her lips.

Rayna nodded, and closed her eyes, enjoying Tandy's fingernails on her scalp. After their Momma died, Rayna could never fall asleep. She'd leave her room in the middle of the night and crawl into this very bed with Tandy, who also couldn't sleep. They'd cry together, and then Tandy would scratch Rayna's scalp until the gentle repetition lulled her into a light slumber.

The first time they unexpectedly giggled after their momma died, they both sat wide-eyed staring at each other, pleased and horrified at the sound, because they both thought they'd never laugh again.

Whatever else Tandy had become at Vanderbilt, no matter how much she'd become like their father, Rayna knew Tandy would always be her sister, the same girl who held her hand as she walked up the steps to her first day of Kindergarten, the same girl who held her hand at their momma's funeral.

"I love you, you know." Tandy whispered.

Rayna nodded, "I know." She smiled, "I love you too, you know."

"I do." She sighed, and turned over on her side, facing her sister.

Rayna smiled, "Good. Say it just like that tomorrow."


	11. October 1st, 1988(a)

_October 1_ _st_ _, 1988_

"You look like a jackass." Chad said, standing behind Deacon as Deacon looked at himself in the slightly warped mirror.

Deacon glanced at Chad's reflection, "Thanks, man." Deacon straightened the collar on his button-down shirt, "But if I wanted fashion advice from the King of Acid Wash, I'd ask."

Chad laughed, and reached a hand out on to Deacon's shoulder, "You ready to meet Don Wyatt?" He asked, squeezing Deacon's shoulder, "On this, the day his daughter is to be married?"

Deacon shrugged. He kept his gaze on the mirror, not wanting to give Chad any more fuel—he couldn't let on how nervous he _actually_ was about meeting Rayna's father tonight. "I reckon I'll be fine as long as I don't ask him to do murder for money."

Chad smirked, "Oh, I'm pretty sure he'll do murder for free since you're defiling his youngest daughter and all."

"Will you shut up?" Deacon said, turning around to face Chad, "I ain't _defiling_ anyone, okay? It was just a kiss." Deacon sighed, a _damn good kiss_. He couldn't get the taste of Rayna out of his mind, couldn't get over the feel of her lips against his, her mouth so pliant and soft beneath his own. It was all he'd been able to think about every time her saw her. It was all he'd been able to think about at all, really.

Chad held his hands out in front of him, "Alright, man." Chad took a bite of the granola bar he'd been holding, "Relax." Chad grinned, "They're all gonna think you're a righteous dude."

Deacon laughed despite himself and then rolled his eyes. "Better lay off the hairspray." Deacon looked at his watch, "I have to go." Walking to the door, he shrugged on his coat.

Chad followed him as he stuffed the wrapper from his granola bar in his pocket. Chad leaned against the doorframe and lifted his hand in a wave as Deacon walked to his truck, "Have fun at the Country Club! Stay away from older women and caviar, they'll both make you feel like you hate yourself in the morning." He called.

Deacon grinned and flipped him off as he slid into the driver's side of his pickup truck. He let out a long breath as he put the key in the ignition. He felt nervous—he'd spent his whole life avoiding things like this. Not that he was really ever invited to anything like this, but he'd still somehow been avoiding it. And avoiding it with good cause, he suspected. He shook his head as he pulled out of the driveway. All it took was a month of knowing _her_ to change that—now, he was willingly driving himself to a _country club_ in his beat-up pickup truck wearing khaki pants and a sportscoat that he only had because his grandfather died three years ago and he'd actually gone to the funeral.

He'd timed it so he got to the country club just before the ceremony began. He pulled his truck into the parking lot full of luxury vehicles and cursed as he slammed his rusty door closed. Even his truck looked out of place.

Sliding into the back row of the ceremony, Deacon looked around and cursed again, this time in his head. Everyone was dressed to the nines: women in sparkling dresses with sparkling jewelry, men in suits and ties, a few even in tuxes. Even the children wore puffy dresses and mini bowties.

And then there was Deacon, in khakis and a sportscoat. As the music cued up, he caught the couple seated next to him glancing at him; they were trying to be discreet but failing miserably as they looked him over. He sighed. He'd always been pretty good at blending in—growing up like he did, it felt like a necessity. Unfortunately, he didn't think _blending in_ was going to be a possibility tonight. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat until the couple next to him turned their eyes to watch the bridal party walk down the aisle; Deacon followed suit, glad for the distraction.

After the third bridesmaid was halfway down the aisle, Deacon caught copper out of the corner of his eye and he snapped his head to the end of the aisle, where he saw Rayna. She was wearing a navy-blue dress with the puffiest sleeves he'd ever seen, and her hair was tied in a complicated knot at the back of her head. Holding a small bouquet, she tentatively made her way down the aisle, and Deacon watched her face. She looked _nervous_ , which Deacon found endearing and a bit funny, considering she got up on stage and sang in front of people—considering she wanted to make a career out of that. She looked ten times more nervous than she did before any show.

As she made her way down the aisle, Deacon didn't take his eyes off her. Throughout the ceremony, his eyes stayed with her, while everyone else watched the bride and groom. He watched her laugh a little, watched her shift uncomfortably in her heels, watched her start to tear up at one of the readings—after Tandy kissed her new husband, Deacon watched as Rayna handed her the bouquet, and then turned to face the guests. Deacon's breath caught in his throat when he realized she was staring right at him.

. . .

Deacon slid into his seat at the table, noticing the empty chair next to him. The people already seated at his table completely ignored him which, actually, was fine by him. He took a sip of the ice water on the table.

Suddenly, someone slid in to the chair next to him. Deacon stiffened, then turned to look at his companion for the night, breaking into a wide smile when he saw it was Rayna.

"Hey." She said, her chin resting on her hand. She looked down at the chair she was sitting in, "I talked Tandy into letting me sit here tonight instead of at the head table."

"Oh yeah?" Deacon asked, a huge wave of relief washing over him, "How'd you manage to do that?"

Rayna grinned, "Blackmail." She dropped her elbow and scooted her chair closer to the table, the sleeves on the dress rustling a bit, "Ugh." She crinkled her nose, "I hate this dress."

Deacon looked her up and down briefly, "Yeah? I think it's working for you."

Rayna laughed, "Shut up."

Deacon hadn't actually been joking—she looked beautiful. But, he was learning, he would think she looked beautiful in a paper sack, so he let it drop.

He cleared his throat, "It was a nice ceremony."

Rayna nodded, "It was." She turned her gaze to where Tandy was seated at the front of the room, laughing with her new husband, "I'm so happy for her." Her voice hitched a bit, and then she turned to look at Deacon and smiled. "Wanna get some air? These five course things take _forever_ to serve, so we have a ton of time before we miss anything."

Deacon breathed out through his nostrils, "Yeah." He nodded, grateful for the idea. He'd felt a bit like he was suffocating before she sat next to him. After she'd sat next to him, he felt a bit _more_ like he was suffocating, actually.

As the cool October air hit his face, Deacon breathed in, enjoying the fresh air.

They walked down a small path, quietly, until they were far enough away from anyone who might want to listen to them. They talked for a bit about the gig they'd had last week, about the weather, about writing more songs together. It was comfortable conversation, but Deacon couldn't help but think that it felt _charged_ somehow. He just kept looking at her lips as she spoke, thinking of the way they moved against his when he kissed her.

When a companionable silence fell between them, Deacon smiled, "Hey, how was getting ready for all of this?" He asked her, remembering how much she had been dreading the part before the wedding. The hair, the makeup, the small talk with strangers who were joining families.

Rayna laughed, "It wasn't nearly as bad as I imagined." She stopped walking and leaned up against a small brick wall. "Sam's family is really nice. Maybe a bit _too_ nice." She shrugged, "They've invited me to go skiing with them in a couple of months." She rolled her eyes a little, and shook her head.

"Skiing?" Deacon asked, chuckling a bit. The things rich people did for fun never ceased to amaze him.

Rayna nodded, "Yep." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, a small smile playing on her lips, "I may have to talk you into coming with me _then_ , too." She looked at him, her eyes sparking.

He didn't know much about skiing, but he knew enough about himself to know that he wouldn't be good at it, "Oh, no. I got roped into _this_ ," He waved his arms around, "That's enough. Besides, snow looks like it _hurts_ when you hit it."

Rayna laughed and nodded a little, "It can. But there's…" She turned her head to the side, thinking, "A way to make it so it doesn't." She smiled at him, "I'll teach you how to fall."

Deacon shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at her, his gaze darkening a little, "I bet you will." He whispered, then he lowered his head down to brush his lips gently against hers. It was the first time they'd kissed since their songwriting session, and he was happy to feel Rayna's arms circle his neck, her fingers tickling the hair at the nape of his neck. She sighed a little against his lips, and his heart constricted a bit.

He'd just started to slip his tongue into her mouth when the loud sound of a throat clearing behind them broke them apart. They both turned to look in the direction of the sound.

The voice was booming when it spoke, "Trust you, Rayna, to bring an underdressed _companion_ to your sister's wedding." Lamar Wyatt stood, staring hard at them. He glanced at Deacon, taking in his attire.

Rayna's gaze was pure fire as she looked at her father, "Daddy, _stop_." She jutted her chin out and looked at him defiantly.

Considering his daughter and weighing his options, Lamar turned to Deacon and offered his hand, "I don't believe we've met. I'm Lamar Wyatt." His tone was friendly, but there was a falseness behind it.

Deacon reached his hand out and shook Lamar's hand, trying to find the perfect grip, "Hi, sir. I'm Deacon Claybourne."

Lamar stared at him, holding tightly to his hand for a moment too long before he let it go. "I know who you are, son." His voice was cold. He looked at Rayna, "It's almost time for the toasts, Rayna, you're needed inside." He stared at Rayna and Deacon.

"We'll be right there, Daddy." Rayna told him, an edge to her voice.

Lamar spun on his heel, and walked a few steps forward. "Rayna." He said, not turning to look back at them.

Rayna rolled her eyes at Deacon, frustrated with her father, then pushed off from the wall and started down the path, Deacon walking slowly next to her.

"I've decided I'm going to do a song." Rayna lowered her voice so her father couldn't hear, "I wanted to do _our_ song." She looked at him shyly, asking him what he thought.

Deacon smiled and nodded, "Alright." He said, enjoying how happy she looked as they approached the building.

Lamar went inside and Rayna turned to look at Deacon.

She slipped her hand into his and squeezed. "Sing with me." She whispered, and then let his hand go to walk inside.

Stunned, he followed behind her. He felt his stomach flutter and shook his head, unwilling to acknowledge that Rayna had that effect on him. _Deacon Claybourne's stomach did_ not _flutter_. He watched Rayna walk over and whisper to the band before the DJ announced her.

Rayna took the microphone, and took her place on the stage. Deacon watched as all the nerves he'd seen earlier today melted away—he'd rarely seen someone so at home on stage.

"Hi, everyone, I'm Rayna, Tandy's little sister and Maid of Honor." Rayna smiled, and gave a little half-wave to the crowd, "I've known Tandy my whole life. She's been my big sister from the moment I came into this world, and I am so grateful for that. People say we're like oil and water, and you know what? We just might be. But we're alike in all the ways that matter." Rayna looked at the groom, "Sam, Tandy is a _handful_ ," A ripple of laughter spread around the crowd, "And that's putting it mildly. She'll test your patience, she'll test your strength, she'll test your liver—but, the thing about Tandy is that if you let her, she'll also love you with the biggest heart you've ever seen, she'll love you without asking questions, she'll love you even when you're not so sure you deserve it." Rayna smiled, and then she looked at Deacon, a silent question in her eyes. When he smiled, nodded, and began making his way to the stage, Rayna grinned, "But the truth is, everything I want to say to my big sister on her wedding day is right here in this song."

Deacon stepped up on stage next to her, and one of the bandmembers passed him a guitar. Slinging the guitar over his body, he gave it a quick strum to make sure it was in tune. Finding that it was, he began to play the opening notes of the first song they'd written together. Rayna turned to him and smiled and then looked down at Tandy from the stage. "This is called The Other Side of Fear. It's everything I hope for you, big sister."

As Rayna began to sing, she turned to look at Deacon, happy to find his eyes situated directly on her. His gaze was intense, and it spread a heat through her body. It reminded her of the first time they sang together in Watty's living room—but it was somehow even _more_ than that this time. When he joined in, she smiled at him, never taking her eyes from his.

As the last chords of the song rang out, Deacon leaned over to Rayna. "I thought you weren't good at speeches?" He whispered.

Rayna shrugged, and grinned at him. "I guess I was… inspired."

Applause rang out, and Deacon slung the guitar off, not taking his eyes from Rayna as he returned it to the bandmember who had given it to him. As they made their way through the audience back to their table, they saw people wiping tears from their eyes, people gazing lovingly at their companions, their jaws a little slack. People smiled at them as they passed, looks of awe affixed firmly on nearly every face in the reception.

But what they didn't see was one face. The face of Lamar Wyatt, who was standing still as a statue in the corner of the room, his face a very particular shade of red.


	12. October 1st, 1988(b)

_October 1_ _st_ _, 1988_

Deacon sat at the table watching Rayna as she casually talked to the people around them—she did so with ease, with a confidence that was beyond her years. Their tablemates had praised them for their performance, and it did not go unnoticed by Deacon that it was the first time all evening they'd even glanced at him. He'd offered a small smile, and Rayna issued a shy 'thank you,' but he could tell she was pleased. So was he—the music they made together seemed to touch people in a way he wouldn't have expected. When he thought about it, it touched _him_ in a way he wouldn't have expected—certainly in a way he hadn't planned for.

When a slow waltz floated through the air, Rayna turned to look at Deacon. "Do you want to dance?" She asked him, her eyes searching his.

About the last thing Deacon wanted to do was stand up in front of all these people and dance—but he was surprised to find that the thought of it with her didn't seem so bad. Doing anything with her didn't seem so bad when he really thought about it—even sitting here at this wedding surrounded by the upper crust of Nashville, so cozy in their ivory towers.

"I can't dance to this," Deacon laughed, smiling at her.

Rayna rolled her eyes a bit, "It's a waltz, I'll teach you." At his hesitance, she smiled, "It's really simple, I promise."

Deacon raised his eyebrows, "You know how to waltz?"

Rayna shrugged, "I took Cotillion."

Deacon bit back a smile, the news not at all surprising to him. "Of course you did." He chuckled a little when she hit him playfully on the arm.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him to the dance floor, turning over her shoulder to him she spoke over the music, "It's customary for the _lady_ to lead the _gentleman_ to the dance floor."

"Is that right?" When she nodded, he grinned, "That may be the first time anyone has ever called me a gentleman."

Laughing, she put her hand on his shoulder and laced her fingers through his. His hand came around her waist, his thumb pressing lightly into her hipbone, just as it had the day he kissed her. His thumb made a tiny circle and he smiled at her, enjoying the way the blush crept up her neck to settle on her face. She was remembering the way his thumb pressed against her that day, too.

"It's a box step." She said, and then she showed him, moving even slower than the music.

He picked it up remarkably well, though she wasn't surprised. He had a feel for rhythm, so it was only sensible that he could catch on to even the rhythm of a stuffy waltz. Eventually, he began leading her around the dance floor, comfortably guiding her in the simple step. When the music changed and the band picked up a soft slow song Deacon hesitated for only a moment before pulling her closely to him. She reached her arms up around his neck as they swayed slowly to the music. Rayna rested her chin on Deacon's shoulder, and he smiled, enjoying the feeling of holding her in his arms.

His eyes scanned the crowd, and his step stuttered a bit when he saw Lamar Wyatt's beady eyes staring at him from across the room. Deacon turned Rayna slightly to the side, and slid them behind another couple on the floor, hoping for a bit of shelter from the gaze—he didn't look at Lamar again, but he could feel his stare burning into him.

"So," Deacon said into Rayna's ear, "I've met your father…" He trailed off.

Rayna pulled back from him slightly and met his eyes—she rolled hers a bit, "Yeah, sorry about that. Daddy can be a bit… harsh."

Deacon laughed, "A bit?"

Rayna shook her head and brought her chin to his shoulder again.

"Any other _relatives_ I need to watch out for?" He asked, sliding his hand from her hip to lower back.

Rayna thought about it, "No," She shook her head, her hair tickling his chin, "No one to watch out for, but I _have_ to introduce you to Gramma Carol. She's my favorite relative of all time." Rayna smiled and then threw her head back in a laugh, "Fair warning, she will definitely wrap you in a big hug during which she will rock you from side to side, and she will definitely kiss you on the cheek and leave a big lipstick print."

Deacon's eyes traced the column of her neck, and he cleared his throat. "Is she your grandma?" It was kind of a stupid question, but he was so mesmerized by the milky skin exposed to him, thinking how much he'd like to kiss her there, that he didn't have time to think about not asking it.

As the music died down and they stepped to the perimeter of the dance floor, Rayna shook her head, "No. Actually… I don't actually know how she's related, but she's just always been around, and everyone calls her Gramma Carol." She smiled, "But _I'm_ her favorite."

Deacon chuckled, "I have no doubt about that." He could certainly see how that would be the case. She was rapidly becoming _his_ favorite, too.

As if on cue, Gramma Carol appeared in front of them holding a large glass of white wine, "Rayna!" She exclaimed boisterously, "Come here, my baby!" She opened her arms, and Rayna stepped into them. The woman's smile lit up her entire face, the deep-set wrinkles telling her story—one of laughter, one of pain.

Gramma Carol squeezed Rayna, and pulled back to look at her face, "Look at you, my sweet baby!" She gripped Rayna's arms, "You look _beautiful_. You look like you should be a _model_ for those dresses!" She placed five rapid-fire kisses all over Rayna's face, and then slung her arm around her shoulders and turned to face Deacon. "And who is _this_ handsome fellow?" Gramma Carol asked, smiling widely.

Rayna laughed, "Gramma Carol, this is my—" Rayna's eyes widened slightly and her face turned a very, very bright red as she realized what she had been about to say, "Deacon." She rushed to correct herself, and then looked directly down at the floor.

Gramma Carol smiled as she released Rayna, "Well," She put her arms around Deacon and rocked him from side to side in a hug, then planted a big kiss on his cheek, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Rayna's Deacon." She squeezed him again, and then pulled back to look at him, giving him a wink, "That song you did earlier," She looked between Rayna and Deacon, and her powder blue eyes got a little misty, "Reminded me of my Jack." She shook her head and smiled, then leaned over and kissed Rayna on the head, "Thank you, my baby."

The band began playing a fast tune, and Gramma Carol smiled, holding up her wine, letting out a raucous burst of laughter, "Time to dance, babies!" She said, shuffling her feet in place a bit before she turned toward the dance floor and started dancing by herself, her hips swaying to a slightly different beat than the band was playing.

Rayna turned to Deacon and grinned, "See?"

Deacon laughed, "Oh, I see."

They meandered outside to discover the night had grown a little chilly. There was a bench off to the right of the front door, and they sat there for a moment, letting the silence settle between them. Deacon felt his heartrate quicken and sighed. He wasn't used to feeling nervous around women, certainly not seventeen-year-old women.

He kept his eyes in front of him, staring at the brick wall that lined the perimeter of the country club. It was dark, but the path lights illuminated it, the shadows of the trees dancing on the ground in the light breeze. The bench was hard underneath him, but it felt solid—he needed that when he was next to Rayna.

"This was my first wedding." Deacon said, breaking the silence.

Rayna turned to look at him, "Really? What'd you think?"

He shrugged, "It was nice."

Rayna nodded, "Yeah, it was." She turned her head to look at the trees in the distance, "Marriage is a bit of a weird concept, isn't it?"

Deacon laughed, "Yeah, a bit. You just pick someone and go— _that one_ , _forever_."

Rayna chuckled, "Exactly. Forever is such a long time."

Deacon brought his arms up and crossed them over his chest. He used to think so too, but these past few months he'd started to think that maybe forever wasn't long enough.

"I hadn't ever really even thought about marriage before Tandy got engaged." She sighed, "Do you think you'd ever get married?" She asked him, her voice quiet.

Deacon didn't look at her, he was afraid that if he did his eyes would give him away—his eyes had a tendency to do that, especially around Rayna he was learning. "I never really thought about it. Maybe. With _that one, forever_." He uncrossed his arms and slouched down in the bench a bit, "What about you?"

Rayna smiled, "I don't know." She laughed, "I don't think I'd make a very good _wife_." She crinkled her nose a little at the word. "Standing in the background hasn't really ever been my thing."

Deacon laughed, and turned to look at her, "Yeah, I've noticed that." He turned his eyes to the brick wall again, "Rayna, I think you'd make a damn good _anything_ you put your mind to." He cleared his throat, "And a wife don't always have to stand in the background."

Rayna smiled and let out a small laugh, "Well, then I guess I might someday with _that one, forever_."

The silence took over again, moving between them like an old friend. Deacon was amazed that the silence between them never seemed awkward or like something either one of them had to rush to fill. They could just sit in it if they wanted, comfortably.

"What were you going to call me back there to Gramma Carol?" Deacon asked, his voice hushed.

Rayna leaned her head back against the stucco of the wall. She smiled a little, "I was going to call you my friend." She whispered, bringing her head back up and glancing at him. She reached up and began removing bobby pins from her hair one by one, setting them on the arm of the bench.

"Yeah?" Deacon smiled, but his voice was serious.

Rayna laughed, "Yeah." She pulled another bobby pin out, "That's what we are, right?" She asked him, her voice soft.

Deacon turned to look at her just as she released the last bobby pin and her hair came tumbling down to her shoulders, slightly curled and slightly wild from the complicated knot it had been in. She let out a little groan and closed her eyes, shaking her hair a little before she opened her eyes to see Deacon watching her intently.

"Yeah," He breathed, "That's what we are." He leaned slightly forward, pleased to notice that she mirrored him, "Friends." He reached out and pressed his lips to hers, sliding his hand into her hair. He smiled against her mouth when she began to kiss him back, and then his stomach dropped when he felt her pressing the tip of her tongue into his mouth, experimenting. She tasted like honey, and a bit like champagne, and all he could think was that he wanted _more_. He slid his tongue over hers, and nudged her mouth open wider with his lips, biting her bottom lip a little before sliding his tongue into her mouth again.

His heart lurched, and he pulled back, a little breathless. It took Rayna a moment to open her eyes to look at him, and when she did, Deacon brought his thumb to her face running it along her cheekbone. She closed her eyes and turned her cheek into his hand.

"Friends." He whispered, as the pad of his thumb ran along her soft skin.

Rayna smiled and opened her mouth to speak when a loud voice rang out, echoing off the stucco of the building behind them.

"Rayna!" It was Tandy, and she stumbled into the moonlight, tripping over her dress a little. "I need your _help_." She said, shooting a knowing look to her sister. "Hi, Deacon." She said, smiling a little.

Deacon waved and smiled, "Hi." He shook his head a little, wondering just how much champagne it took Tandy to get that scornful look she had for him out of her eye. Apparently at least a bit more than she'd already had.

Rayna leaned over and whispered, "I have to go help Tandy in the bathroom." At his look, she laughed, "Wedding dress thing. Don't ask."

"Wasn't gonna." He smiled as he watched Rayna get up and head toward her sister, leaving the bobby pins on the arm of the bench.

Deacon reached across the bench and picked a bobby pin up, twirling it around in his fingers like he did with guitar picks. The action calmed him, helped him think. He closed his eyes and pressed his head back against the stucco, enjoying the rough feel of the plaster on his scalp. It reminded him of Rayna's fingernails, though he much preferred that sensation to this one. He smiled, and let out a light sigh. What he had been dreading all week—this wedding—had actually turned out to be a rather nice evening. Though he suspected that any evening that included Rayna Jaymes pressed against him and her mouth under his would shape up to be a pretty good night, generally speaking. A pretty great night, actually.

He'd felt something _different_ when he kissed her tonight; he'd felt it when he kissed her last week, too, and he was still trying to sort out what it was. Tonight, it became a little clearer—he felt the innate urge to _protect_ her. He hadn't felt that way about anyone or anything in a very, very long time. The thought unnerved him a bit, and he felt scared to follow the feeling to its logical conclusion, afraid of what he would learn. What he was already starting to learn.

A deep voice broke him from his reverie, "Nice night, isn't it?"

Deacon stilled as a feeling of dread spread through him as he slowly opened his eyes, bringing his head away from the stucco. When he did, he saw Lamar Wyatt standing directly in front of him, his broad shoulders blocking out the overhead patio light, his hands behind his back.

Deacon sat up a bit, "Yes, sir, it's a very nice night."

"Take a walk with me?" Lamar said it like it was a question, but Deacon could tell that it wasn't.

Deacon stood and shoved the bobby pin into his pocket, following a step or two behind Lamar until they got to the same path he and Rayna had walked down earlier in the evening. Walking it with Lamar felt decidedly more ominous.

Lamar kept his gaze straight ahead, "What are you doing with my daughter?" His voice was deep, serious.

Deacon swallowed, "I'm…" He trailed off, his nerves on edge, "I'm playing guitar for her." He finished, shrugging a bit. It was the truth, at least. Part of it, anyway.

Lamar smiled, but it held no mirth, "Is that what they're calling it these days? Is that what you were doing on this trail earlier?" He indicated his head toward the spot where he had found them kissing. " _Playing guitar for her_?" His voice was stern, "Is that what you were doing on that bench?" Lamar stopped walking and turned to look at Deacon.

Deacon stopped walking but didn't speak, he couldn't find any words. He didn't even really know what he was doing with Rayna. She got invited to weddings at Country Clubs; she had probably never known what it was like to be hungry. But whatever he was doing with her, the truth was _he liked it_.

In the hanging silence, Lamar fixed him with a hard stare. " _You_ thinking you can date my daughter is absolutely beyond the pale." Lamar smirked, "She's going to see past your charm, past your rough exterior that's drawing her in now, and when she does, she won't like what she sees." Lamar pulled a manila folder out from behind his back, and Deacon briefly wondered how he hadn't seen it before. "As I said, _I know who you are_ , Deacon Claybourne." Lamar reached out and handed him the manila folder.

Deacon took it, astonished to find that his hand was shaking a bit as he pulled it back and opened the cover. Flipping through the pages, he felt himself start to get a little dizzy. Memories connected to the images in the folder raced through his mind: his Mama's black eyes, his father's mugshots from when somebody would finally get scared he was actually going to kill her, Deacon's mugshot for drunk and disorderly, his mugshot for assault.

"I know who your Daddy is too, Deacon." Lamar lifted his hand in a wave to a couple passersby, then lowered his voice, "And I know you're just like him." Lamar reached his thick finger over the folder and placed it on a picture of his Mama with a black eye. "Stay away from my daughter." Lamar spun on his heel, and walked back to the reception.

Deacon slammed the manila folder shut, fighting the urge to throw it into the bushes. He fought the urge to kick the brick wall as the rage coursed through him. He pressed his eyes shut and balled his fist, his knuckles turning white with his rage. The blood was rushing in his head and he could scarcely hear over the sound, his ears throbbing.

"Deacon?" In the back of his mind, he heard Rayna's voice calling to him. He opened his eyes and saw her walking down the trail towards him.

He tried to move, but his feet wouldn't let him. Suddenly, she was right in front of him. She moved her hand to grasp his arm through his jacket. Her touch propelled him backward, and he yanked his arm away.

"Deacon?" She said again, her brow furrowing in the middle. "Are you okay?" She asked, concern working its way into her face. "What's that?" She looked at the folder in his hand.

"I…" Deacon cleared his throat, "I have to go." He said, refusing to look her in the eye as he headed back down the trail toward the parking lot. He walked away from her quickly.

"Deacon!" She called to him, following behind him, her heels slowing her progress.

"I have to _go_ , Rayna!" He shouted, not turning around to look at her. He half ran to the parking lot, clutching the folder in his hand.

Deacon slid into the driver's side of his truck, threw the folder onto the passenger seat with force and shoved his keys into the ignition. Hearing the engine rev up, he slammed it into reverse, looked behind him, and backed out of the parking lot.

Driving on the dark winding road from the country club, Deacon's knuckles gripped the steering wheel. He was mad; angrier than he had been in a long, long time. As images of his Mama flashed in his mind: her eye swollen closed, her lip cut, her arm in a cast; he had to admit that more than anything, he was scared. He heard his father's voice in his head: _you're gonna be just like me_.

What Lamar shook in him was his own fear—his fear that Lamar was right, that his own father was right. He was scared that he _did_ have his father's blood in his veins.


	13. October 4th, 1988

_October 4_ _th_ _, 1988_

"Connie Corleone called." Chad pushed his hair back out of his eyes, " _Again_." He was sitting on the porch of their house, a lit cigarette dangling from his hand. He was hung the fuck over. "Are you ever going to tell me what happened at that wedding, man?" He looked at Deacon who was sitting across from him on the porch, his head in his hands, "Not that I don't enjoy getting shitfaced with you every night and sleeping with all the girls you turn on but then turn down, because _I do_. And _thanks_ , by the way, Mindy was a real treat last night.But something happened at that wedding, and I'd sure as hell like to know what it was." He took a long drag from his cigarette.

Deacon rubbed his temples; his head was throbbing. It was five in the evening and they'd just woken up. "Does that make me Carlo in this situation?" He asked, his voice a little raw from the night. Chad was completely unaware of how closely he'd hit home with his idle reference. Deacon stood up, opened the door, grabbed the manila folder and slapped it on the porch in front of Chad. "Vito reminded me of my _place_."

Chad picked up the folder and opened it, letting out a low whistle as he flipped through the photos. "And you didn't tell Rayna about this?" Chad asked. At Deacon's look, he continued, "And you're not _going_ to tell Rayna about this."

Deacon lay down on the porch and closed his eyes, "There ain't nothin' to tell."

Chad closed the folder and slapped it back down on the porch. "Oh, there _ain't_?"

Deacon reached his hand out and pushed an empty beer bottle, watching as it rolled off the porch and landed in the bushes, "Nope." He popped the 'p,' closing his eyes again.

Chad eyed him suspiciously, "Oh, okay, just checking. 'Cause a heart full of sorrow paints a lonely tapestry."

Deacon leaned up and opened one eye at him, "You're an idiot."

Chad stubbed his cigarette out on the side of the porch railing. He dropped the butt on the porch and then wiped away the ash from the railing with his fingers, "Well, even an idiot like me can see that your _place_ is on stage next to Rayna."

Deacon put his head back down, "No it ain't. I got no business even _thinking_ about a girl like her."

Chad leaned his head back, "That may be true, but with these thin walls I sure _hear_ you thinking about her damn near every night." Chad grinned, pleased with his innuendo.

Deacon sat up, grabbing his head with the effort as it swam around him, "Shut _up_ , Chad." But he was smiling for the first time in three days. "Go back to talking in movie quotes and song lyrics." He grinned, "Besides, it ain't _every_ night."

Chad threw his head back and laughed, then grabbed his stomach and stabled himself against the porch railing. "It's damn close to every night." His face turned serious and he tapped his fingers on the manila folder, "Look, I get it. I do. But, man, you _have_ something with Rayna. I don't know about all the other shit, but that music you guys make, that's _something_." He stood up, "So you can't let a guy like Lamar _fucking_ Wyatt take that away from you." Chad looked at him, turning his head to the side, "Or at least don't let him take it away from Rayna." When Deacon didn't respond, Chad walked up the steps and clapped Deacon on the shoulder, "You know, it's really human of you to listen to all my bullshit." At Deacon's smile, Chad laughed, "So, what do you want to do tonight?"

Deacon looked at him, "I want to get drunk." He squinted into the fading light of the sun, "I want to get very, very drunk."

Chad sighed, smiled, and shook his head, "Why am I not surprised?"

#

As they stumbled home from the bar, Deacon's arm was slung over Chad's shoulder and he was using him as a crutch as they made their way down the sidewalk, a girl in a short skirt and tank top trailing behind them; she was trying not to shiver from the cold. Chad was tipsy, but Deacon was _wasted_. A familiar looking pickup truck was parked by their curb.

As they rounded the corner and began heading up the walkway, they stopped in their tracks. There was a small figure sitting on the porch steps.

"Uh oh." Chad breathed out, recognizing the figure immediately. He'd been waiting for this. Propping Deacon up and finding that he could stand alone without assistance, Chad distanced himself from Deacon a bit.

The girl that was trailing behind them spoke up, "Who's _that_?"

"Don't worry, sugar, she's for _him_." Chad answered, slapping a hand on Deacon's chest.

The girl wasn't exactly satisfied with the answer, having had her eyes on Deacon, but she sidled up next to Chad anyway.

Just then, Rayna bolted off the porch, running down the walkway until she stood in their path. "Hey." She said, her eyes narrowing as she took in the scene. Rayna's eyes settled on Deacon, searching his face. The girl slung her arm around Chad.

Chad cleared his throat, "Um, hey, Rayna." He gave her a little wave and walked down the walkway towards the porch, his arm around the girl's waist.

When they were gone, Rayna turned to look at Deacon. His eyes were glossy, and he was doing his best to look anywhere but at her.

"I borrowed Watty's truck." She smiled a little, "Where've you been?" She asked him, her voice soft and gentle. It wasn't accusatory, though Deacon knew it had every right to be. She was wearing jeans and a sweater, and she pulled her arms around herself, trying to keep the October evening chill out.

Deacon sighed, "Around." His word was slightly slurred, but he seemed more sober than he had even a moment before, as though the mere sight of her worked to help sober him up. In truth, it did.

Rayna nodded once, "Around." Her face flashed annoyance, then slipped into sadness, "I've been…" She trailed off, opening her eyes against the light breeze passing by to keep the tears at bay, "I've been calling you."

Her voice was fragile, and there was something in it that made Deacon's blood turn soft. He closed his eyes and tried to steel himself against it, the images in the folder Lamar Wyatt had given him playing on repeat behind his eyes. His blood ran cold at the thought, and he felt the anger begin to surge through him again.

"Can't take a hint, Rayna?" He asked, opening his eyes and fixing her with a hard stare. It took every ounce of strength within himself to maintain it when she returned his gaze with wide-eyed hurt.

"No, I can." She shivered against the cold and pushed her hair from her face, "I just… I don't understand, Deacon. What did I do?" Her voice was small, quiet. She shrugged, "You were kissing me at the wedding and then—you just ran away. You just stopped talking to me? I thought we were…" She trailed off, confusion in her voice. Her eyes looked around his yard, not focusing on anything; she wasn't sure she could actually look at him, "I thought you were my…"

Deacon's face screwed up in pain, and the anger came in second; he walked up the walkway to the porch steps. Standing on the second one, he whirled around to face her, balling his fists at his side. "I'm _not_ your boyfriend, Rayna, I'm not anybody's damn boyfriend!"

Rayna followed him, stopping halfway up the walkway where she finally looked at him, "Is _that_ what this is about? Is _that_ why you've been ignoring me?" She sighed, "If that's what's bothering you, I don't…we don't…"

The way she was looking at him made the overwhelming need to push her away flood through him. He wasn't the type of guy who deserved to have someone like Rayna look at him like that. He let his anger for Lamar Wyatt fuel him, let the fear he'd stirred in himself three nights ago buoy it to the surface.

Deacon shot off the porch and stood directly in front of her, "Just leave me alone, Rayna!" He yelled at her, "Don't you get it?" He asked her, his tone harsh, bordering on cruel, "Can't you see that _I don't_ _want you_?" His voice boomed and he watched as fear settled in over her face, moving right in over the embarrassment and hurt.

Rayna stumbled back from him a little, feeling the tears burn her eyes, "I thought… Deacon, I thought that you…" She trailed off, the tears streaming down her face. "Okay." Deciding that she should spare herself further humiliation, she turned around and walked across the grass, heading back to Watty's truck.

As realization of what he'd just said to her washed over him, he felt panic grip him; Deacon followed behind her, grabbing her arm. When she wrenched it out of his grasp with a slight yelp, Deacon froze, "Shit, Rayna." He exhaled, dropping to his knees on the grass. Something in his voice made her stop and turn around to look at him.

The grass was wet, and he felt it soaking through the knees of his jeans, "I'm so sorry," He felt the tears come hot and thick down his face as he knelt on the grass, "I'm sorry." He said again, looking up at her, regret emblazoned on his face. He hunched over, and then sat down on the grass. He brought his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, hugging them to himself; his shoulders were shaking with the force of his tears.

Her face morphed immediately into concern and she dropped down next to him, her knees pushing into the wet grass beside him. She reached out and put her hand lightly on his back, "Shhh…" She whispered, her hand moving in circles. Her voice was quiet, "You don't have to be anything to me that you don't want to be, Deacon."

He looked up at her then, and the pain she saw there took her breath away, "That's just it, Rayna," His voice was a whisper, "I want to be _everything_ to you, but I can't… you don't…" His eyes crinkled at the sides, and she thought for a minute that he looked twenty years older than he was if you went by his eyes, if you read the pain there, "You deserve…" He choked back a sob, "You don't deserve someone like me."

"Deacon…" She started, but he cut her off.

"No, Ray, you don't understand." He said, still crying. Rayna's hand smoothed his shirt, and then she reached her hand up to his head, running her fingernails through the dark hair at his temple. He closed his eyes, and leaned into her touch. "You don't understand." His voice was barely a whisper and he shook his head lightly.

"Okay." She said, her fingernails tracing invisible patterns into his scalp, "Then help me understand." She sat down next to him, her arms grasping his, her touch gentle on his biceps.

"I don't even know how to tell you this." His voice sounded broken as he rested his forehead on his forearm, speaking into his lap, "The first real clear memory I have is walking into the bathroom. I was six years old, maybe seven, and I'd heard my Mama scream." He took a breath to steady himself, but when he spoke it was clear it hadn't worked, "I went to find her, and then I heard a noise coming from the bathroom. A real loud noise, so I pushed the door open and I saw her. She was covered in blood, her face black and blue, and he was standing over her, my father." He shook his head, his forehead digging into his forearm, "His fist was raised, and he turned around when I opened the door and looked at me." His voice was distant, like he wasn't here, and he wasn't there; he wasn't anywhere, "He looked right at me and smirked. Then he pushed me out of the bathroom and locked the door."

Rayna was crying again, keeping her tears silent. She was thinking of Deacon as a little boy, of how scared he must have been. She brought her fingernails down to the nape of his neck, soothing him with her touch.

He lifted his head to look at her, but thought better of it, dropping his head back down. "Rayna," His voice broke on her name, "I banged on that door until my hands hurt. I scratched at it until my fingernails were bloody," He took a shaky breath, "And when my father came out, he smiled at me… this real evil smile. Then he… he told me I was gonna be _just_ like him when I grew up." Deacon shook his head, "It wasn't the first time he told me that, and it damn sure wasn't the last." He brought his head up to look at her, finally, but it was almost like he was looking past her, "I went into that bathroom and I held my Mama; I slept with her in there all night, but I felt _so_ scared. Scared for her, scared of my father, and scared that he was right. Even at six years old I was scared that he was right." He sighed, "And you know what? Sometimes I have a temper I can't control." His eyes were glassy, "And that look I saw on my Mama's face, that look of fear? I just saw it on your face, Rayna."

Rayna shook her head, "No, Deacon, it wasn't anything like that." She murmured, "It wasn't _anything_ like that."

His shoulders shook with his sobs, and he looked away from her, his eyes focusing on some spot on the grass, "I don't want to be like him, Ray; I don't want to be a _thing_ like him."

"Shhh," She said, pulling him to her. He let her take him, and she leaned back so his head was on her chest; she could feel his tears on her skin and she pressed her lips to his temple, "It's okay." She whispered, "You don't have to be, Deacon. You don't have to be like him." She kissed his hairline, "You get to choose." She smoothed her hand over his head, "Okay?" When she felt him nod against her chest, she cradled his head and rocked him gently, "You get to choose."

When his tears subsided, she held him still, her hands caressing his head. "Come on," She said, lifting his head gently from her chest and standing up. She reached her hand out to him and he took it, standing beside her. She led him to the walkway and he followed her wordlessly up the stairs on the porch.

She led him to his bedroom, and eased him down on the bed. She crawled in behind him and wrapped her arms around him, her chest pressing into his back. She lifted her head and planted a kiss on his cheek. When she heard him sigh, she leaned into his ear and whispered, "Sleep." She watched his eyes flutter closed as his hand came up to grasp hers, holding tightly to her, as though he wanted to make sure she was really there. "I'm here." She whispered, "And you get to choose."


	14. October 5th, 1988

_October 5_ _th_ _, 1988_

Deacon awoke fully clothed, well-rested, and _freezing_. October nights had gotten cold, and quick. The light streamed in from the window above his bed, the slats in the blinds casting shadows across his room. He opened his eyes and lifted his head—turning it to the right, he saw Rayna, her mass of copper hair spread out over his pillow; she was cocooned inside every blanket and sheet he had on the bed. Her face peeked out from the pile of blankets, but she was still asleep, breathing softly in and out of her nose. She looked peaceful, and he smiled.

Deacon reached out to smooth his hand over her forehead, softly caressing the skin there with the back of his hand. Looking at her, he felt his heart swell and then lurch; he felt something shift in his stomach, and an almost nausea-like wave rippled through it; at the recognition, a bit of dread settled in, followed swiftly by panic. _The damn flutter was back_. Though he knew it had never really left, he still swore softly under his breath, wondering if this fluttering thing was going to become his new normal. Looking at Rayna, sleeping in his bed, he already knew the answer, though he refused to admit it to himself.

As he continued stroking her forehead, her eyes fluttered open and he watched as she woke up, the golden tones in her hair exemplified by the early morning light. His breath caught in his throat at the sight, her blue eyes shining back at him—he'd never seen anything more beautiful. He watched her brow furrow and crease as she took him in, and then a slow smile spread across her face as she realized where she was.

"Hey," She said, her voice rough with sleep. Deacon didn't know he'd ever like the sound of something so much—but listening to Rayna wake up was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard.

"Hey yourself." He said, smoothing her hair back one more time and then dropping his hand back in between them, "Warm enough?" He asked, a small smile playing on his face.

She looked down at herself, took in the blankets swirled around her, and then looked back at him. Her gaze traveled up his blanket-less form, and she laughed. "Oh." She said, smiling a bit shyly, "Sorry."

Deacon laughed and shook his head, "It's okay." He rolled onto his back and propped himself up on his arms, "Didn't really figure you for a cover-stealer though."

Rayna laughed and sat up on one arm, her elbow supporting her weight as she looked at him, "No?" She asked, her eyebrows raised.

Deacon cleared his throat, the realization of what he'd just admitted washing over him—he'd just admitted that he'd imagined Rayna in bed. Which he had, numerous times in various different ways, but that wasn't something he had necessarily planned on sharing with her. Flustered, he sat up, avoiding her gaze.

"Do you want, uh… some coffee?" He asked, swinging his legs off the bed.

Rayna sat up and considered him, her eyes flickering over his face, "Uh, sure."

Deacon started to get up—he was halfway to the door of his bedroom when her voice stopped him and he turned around to face her.

"Deacon," She said, her voice quiet, "I meant what I said last night." She sat up and ran her hand through her hair, "You don't have to be anything to me that you don't want to be."

Deacon sighed; she'd obviously misinterpreted his jumpiness, but his head was starting to pound a little bit and he wasn't even sure what he should say, so he just offered her a small smile.

"What I want to be right now is your coffee supplier." He winked at her and felt relief when she smiled at him and then burrowed herself back down in the covers. His heart leapt, and he shook his head as he closed his bedroom door behind him.

 _Get it together, Claybourne_ , he said, slightly disgusted with himself, but he was smiling as he made his way to the kitchen and put the coffee on. His mind was moving a mile a minute. Last night had been such a weird night—he'd never opened up like he had to Rayna, not to anyone. And no one had ever made him feel like she had last night; last night, he felt like he was safe—like he could be more than the sum of all his fears, like his future wasn't predetermined. It was a strange feeling, one that was not unwelcome. As the coffee brewed, he got two cups down from the cupboard and placed them in front of the pot.

He hadn't felt _this_ well-rested since he moved to Nashville; hell, he was pretty sure he hadn't felt this well-rested in his whole life. He shook his head, removing the coffee pot and pouring the steaming coffee into the cups. He'd never actually _just slept_ with a girl before, a fact that he hadn't realized until he was waking up with a fully clothed Rayna next to him. It felt much different than he thought it might—it felt oddly comforting in a way he didn't expect. But, he thought, that was probably because that girl was Rayna. Everything, he was beginning to notice, felt different with her.

He dropped some sugar and creamer into the mugs and then picked them up; carrying them back to his bedroom, he couldn't stop the flutter as it came again.

When he pushed the door open, she was sitting in a chair in the corner of his room—he saw her face first, her brow furrowed and creased in the middle, this time in anger. She looked _pissed_ , he thought, as he set the coffee mugs on the dresser by the door. His eyes fell to the manila folder open in her lap and his stomach dropped.

He closed the door behind him and her head snapped up to look at him.

"What the hell is this, Deacon?" She asked, nodding her head at the folder in her lap.

Deacon's heart sank—Lamar's words came flooding back to him: _She's going to see past your charm, past your rough exterior that's drawing her in now, and when she does, she won't like what she sees_.

"That," Deacon said, stepping further into the room and crossing to where she sat in the chair, "Is none of your damn business," He said, reaching out and snapping the folder closed. He removed it from her lap.

Rayna stood up from the chair, her clothes slightly rumpled from having been slept in, "The _hell_ it's not, Deacon." She said, throwing her hands on her hips.

Deacon felt the anger course through him, and he was glad. It could mask the embarrassment he felt—embarrassment for thinking his life could be different, for thinking someone like Rayna would be interested in him in the first place, let alone after she found out—really found out—about his past.

He smirked, his grasp on the folder tight, "No, it's _not_ any of your damn business, Rayna," His voice was steady but harsh, "Look, I'm sorry that as it turns out, I'm a little bit more _bad boy_ than you can handle, but… I told you that you deserved someone better than me; I'm trash, Rayna, as you can very well see now. I'm sorry you had to find out this way that it was true. And I get that you're mad at me for it, but hey, you can leave now, we can go our separate ways, no hard feelings." He looked at her, his gaze holding a false steel.

"Deacon," Rayna whispered, "Is that what you really think?" She shook her head, "You are _not trash._ And I'm not mad at _you_ ," She said, reaching her hand up to graze his jaw, "Well, maybe a little bit for not telling me about all of this. I'm mad at _Daddy_." She sighed and dropped her hand, "He's the one that did this, right? He's the one that gave this to you?" She reached for the folder and tugged on it gently, but he wouldn't let it go, "This is what he gave you at Tandy's wedding?"

At her insistent gaze, Deacon nodded once.

"God," She breathed out, her tone one of disbelief. She moved her hand to cover his on the folder. She squeezed it lightly, "Deacon, let go." She smoothed her hand over the back of his hand; he closed his eyes and then released his grasp on the folder.

Rayna took it from him and tucked it under her arm, "I don't care about this, Deacon." She sighed, "I mean—I care about this because I'm sorry it happened to you, but nothing in this folder changes _anything_ between us."

Deacon opened his eyes and looked at her, "Rayna, that folder changes _everything_ between us."

Rayna looked at him and set her jaw, "Not for me it doesn't." She sat back down in the chair and balanced the folder on her lap. Reaching down, she slid her boot on her left foot, "Look, I mean that. But I also meant what I said last night, so I guess you just have to decide, you know..." She slid her other boot on, "What you want." She stood up and tucked the folder back under her arm, "I'll see you at rehearsal later?" She asked, smiling at him.

Deacon cleared his throat, "Yeah," He nodded, "You'll see me at rehearsal."

She pulled his bedroom door open and Deacon watched as she froze. She glanced back at him and then stepped into the living room, Deacon following behind her.

Chad was sitting at the kitchen counter, shirtless despite the cold. His hair was sticking up in a million different directions and he was crunching loudly on cereal, a bit of milk dribbling down his chin. His spoon was frozen halfway between his mouth and his bowl.

"Hey," He said, around a mouthful of cereal. "Morning." He smirked as he dropped his spoon into the bowl.

Rayna flushed, "Morning." She said, not quite meeting his eyes. She glanced back at Deacon, and he guided her toward the door, his hand settling into the small of her back. Her breath hitched at the contact, and her face flushed an even deeper shade of red.

Deacon opened the door for her, and then guided her through it. When they'd said their final goodbyes, he turned around and closed the door behind him. Chad was staring at him, his eyes wide. Deacon chuckled at his expression.

"So," Chad said, smiling, "Does this mean I get to sleep again without the sound of you rubbing one out to Rayna assaulting my ears? God, I hope so… so I can stop fuckin' picturing it."

Deacon rolled his eyes, but he was grinning, " _That_ what you think about before you fall asleep? Me, jacking off?"

Chad threw his head back and laughed, "Seriously, though, how was it?"

Deacon sighed and shook his head, "We just _slept_ , man."

Chad threw him an exaggerated wink, " _Slept_ , right. Well how did you _sleep_?"

Deacon laughed, "I'm _serious_. And I slept like a damn baby." He went to the refrigerator and pulled out an apple. Biting into it, he sighed, "We slept, and when we woke up… she found the folder."

Chad's eyes widened, "The dossier?"

"Yep," Deacon confirmed, around a mouthful of apple.

Chad let out a low whistle, "How'd she take that?"

Deacon shrugged, "Better than I expected."

Chad laughed, "Well, good. Though I'm not surprised; I've seen the way _y'all_ gaze at each other. Now maybe you can stop moping." Chad slid off the stool and grinned, "After all, we're all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it, that's all." He dropped his bowl in the sink and then headed towards his room, "I'm gonna play my music extra loud for the next twenty minutes or so, just so you know."

Deacon laughed and shook his head, taking his apple back to his room where, he knew, he would inevitably think of Rayna, in one way or another.

. . .

Rayna was behind the wheel of Watty's truck, fuming as she made her way across town. She'd wondered what had happened to make Deacon pull away from her at the wedding. She should have guessed it would have something to do with her father, most things in her life that caused her pain did. When she'd shown up at Deacon's house last night, she hadn't known what to expect—she'd thought maybe she'd done something to push him away, and when he'd told her that he didn't want her, she'd believed him, wondering how she could have been so foolish as to think that he might.

Then he'd opened up to her in a way that she could tell was difficult for him—and then, she'd spent the night. She'd never woken up next to anyone who wasn't directly related to her before, and this morning when she saw his face staring down at her she felt exhilarated by it and slightly frightened at the same time. When she was leaving, she knew Deacon's roommate had thought something happened between them, and the thought made her feel embarrassed and slightly shy, even sitting alone in Watty's truck. Nothing had, of course, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she _wanted_ something to happen between them; it was an entirely new feeling for her, the constant thrum of desire she felt for Deacon.

With a heavy sigh, she pulled up to City Hall, the morning light casting the building's shadow over the front lawn. Sliding out of the truck, she grabbed the folder and made her way across the front lawn. Her Daddy didn't have a government job, but he sure had an office in the building. She breezed past security and opened the door to his office, ready for a fight.

When Lamar saw her, he hung up the call he was on and turned to face her, not getting up from his desk.

"Well, Rayna, to what do I owe this immense pleasure?" He asked, his smile sliding over his face.

Rayna slammed the door behind her and walked until she was directly in front of his desk, "Don't play dumb with me, Daddy, you know _exactly_ why I'm here." She threw the manila folder down on the desk in front of him, it slid until it pushed up against his broad chest.

Lamar chuckled, but didn't look down at the folder. "Did you even read what was in it, Rayna?" He stared at her, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Rayna sighed, "Yeah, Daddy, I did. And you know what? I don't care."

Lamar shifted in his chair, "Of course you don't. Why would you possibly care about the criminal history of someone you're dating?"

Rayna narrowed her eyes, "Stay out of it.. _I mean it_." She leaned forward, her body filling with rage, "You leave me alone, and you leave Deacon alone… got it?"

Lamar considered her as he folded his hands over the folder. He turned his head to the side, "He's going to break your heart, you know."

Rayna laughed, but there was no mirth in it, "Oh, don't act like you give a _damn_ about my heart, Daddy. We both know the only reason you're doing this is for appearances sake, to keep the good Wyatt name clean. Well, I'm not interested, and I'm a _Jaymes_ now, anyway." Rayna crossed her arms over her chest, "Besides, it's not like I haven't had my heart broken before." She offered a wry smile.

Lamar studied her, his jaw clenched, "You don't know _what_ he's capable of, Rayna…"

Rayna lifted her chin, "You don't know him, Daddy, so please stop talking like you do."

Lamar stood then and walked around to the front of his desk. He leaned against the corner of it and fixed his daughter with a hard stare, " _Do you_?"

Rayna thought about Deacon—her memory flashed back to the night they met, to their first time on stage together, to the night he protected her at the bar, to the day he kissed her on a picnic blanket, to last night as he confessed one of the darkest parts of himself and trusted her to hold him through it.

"Yeah," Rayna said, nodding, "I do." She turned on her heels and walked to the door. She opened it and then turned around to face him once more, trying to steady her shaking hands, "Now stay _the_ _hell_ out of my life."


	15. October 22nd, 1988

_October 22_ _nd_ _, 1988_

Smoke filled the bar, the haze surrounding everything, the air thick despite the autumn chill outside. The crowd was restless, mostly male, and rowdy. Rayna was in the middle of her set, her denim skirt creeping suggestively up her thighs as she shimmied across the stage finishing the last bars of one of her most upbeat songs. Her tank top was clinging to her skin, her ample cleavage slick with sweat.

Rayna looked out into the crowd, watching as they swayed along to the music, bottles of beer and mixed drinks in their hands, their eyes focused directly on her. Her eyes fell on Tandy and Sam, both nursing martinis at the bar, both sticking out like sore thumbs but, Rayna noticed, smiling nonetheless.

Deacon was behind her on stage, his eyes on her and nowhere else. Smiling, she walked over to him and slung her back against his as they both leaned into the microphone to sing the last line of the song. When the crowd erupted in applause, Rayna stepped forward, her chest heaving, slightly breathless from the performance.

Rayna leaned down and grabbed her bottle of water and twisted the cap off. She brought the microphone to her mouth.

As the whooping and applause continued, Rayna smiled, still breathing hard, "Thank y'all so much, I sure do love a rowdy crowd!" Taking a sip of water, she put the cap back on and set it down on the front of the stage, "This next one we wrote a few weeks ago, tonight is our first time trying it out. It's called…"

Just then, a booming voice from the crowd shouted, interrupting her, "Show me your boobs!" His voice carried through the crowd, and a short-lived hushed silence fell over the room. The man, a heavyset fellow in his mid-thirties with long hair and a cowboy hat laughed; his friends surrounding him followed suit. At their outburst, several other drunk men in the crowd began echoing the sentiment with variations of their own, some expressly cruder with harsher language.

Sam and Tandy were frozen at the bar, and Watty was standing at a high top watching the scene intently. His look vacillated between annoyance and anger, but his curiosity was piqued by the impending exchange. He knew without a doubt that Rayna was tough, and not just for seventeen, but she'd never quite been on the receiving end of these sorts of sexualized taunts—how she handled it in this moment, he knew, would be telling. He narrowed his eyes as he watched her on stage, silently willing her to keep her level head.

For his part, Deacon felt his blood run hot as he looked into the crowd, his eyes staring daggers at the man who started it all before his eyes began darting around the crowd at the various men joining in. Deacon slung his guitar to the side and started to step forward on the stage ready to grab a microphone or jump down and fight, but Rayna's soft hand on his wrist stopped his progress.

Smiling sweetly, Rayna leaned into the microphone, "Sorry, y'all, but we retired that one last year." She made direct eye contact with the heavyset man who was still staring at her lasciviously. Her face flushed, but she didn't miss a beat, "So this one will just have to do."

A ripple of laughter rolled through the crowd, and the man who made the original comment guffawed loudly and then raised his beer up in the air in a mock toast to Rayna, bringing his other hand up in a little salute.

As the band started up behind them, Deacon stared at Rayna in awe, a slow smile spreading across his face as he started the lead-in, his anger forgotten and replaced with something else; a warm feeling crept into his bones as he began playing, a small smile remained on his face, and he never took his eyes from Rayna.

When their set was over, a breathless Deacon grabbed Rayna's hand and led her off the stage and out the back door situated behind the stage, the cool air rushing over their bodies as they slipped into the night. Rayna was laughing as Deacon spun her around, his arms sliding around her waist, his fingers splaying over her lower back.

"You were _incredible_ , Ray," Deacon whispered, his mouth against hers as he pressed her up against the red brick wall behind the bar.

Rayna smiled, "You were incredible too, Deacon," She said, laughing as his hands skated up her sides to tangle themselves in her hair.

"The way you handled those assholes," He shook his head, still in slight disbelief at the way she carried herself in the bar, "You," He whispered, "Are somethin' else," He pressed his mouth against hers again, this time sliding his tongue inside her mouth.

Rayna walked her hands up his back and slid her fingers into his hair, pulling lightly on it. She hummed against his mouth and felt the heat spread throughout her body as he kissed her. She was becoming intimately familiar with the way desire coursed through her body when Deacon kissed her; wanting him in a way she had previously been unfamiliar with was rapidly becoming second nature to her.

As they kissed hungrily, the cool brick pressing into her back, Rayna marveled at the feel of Deacon's mouth against hers—a month ago she had hardly been kissed, and now she swirled her tongue around his like she'd been doing it for years. In truth, it felt like she had.

She pressed her body into Deacon's as his hand made its way down to her hip, his thumb pressing into the bone, caressing her there the way he did the first time they'd ever kissed a month ago. He bit her lip gently as he slid his hand up her stomach and cupped her breast through her shirt, running his thumb across her already-erect nipple. Rayna sighed into his mouth, pressing herself further into his hand.

Two weeks ago, they'd been making out after rehearsal and Deacon had tentatively brushed his hand across her breast—it had almost felt accidental when he'd done it. At his touch, Rayna had gasped, then fervently nodded when he pulled back to look at her. He'd smiled, leaned into her, and moved to cup her fully, unable to contain the groan that escaped from him into her mouth at the weight of her full breast in his hands.

For Rayna, Deacon's hand on her breast was nothing short of a revelation, and she'd kissed him passionately, her hands digging into his back as he moved his other hand up to cup her other breast. She'd gasped again and murmured her approval, her head nodding slightly as her tongue explored his mouth. She'd been felt up once before at a party Tandy dragged her to, but the experience had stirred nothing in her.

 _Deacon's_ hands on her, even through her shirt and a bra felt electric, like every nerve in her body was at attention, like every nerve she had was learning what it was to be set on fire.

Behind the bar now, Deacon kissed her, his hand caressing her breast through her shirt, his thumbnail playing with the peak of her nipple. Rayna pressed her lower half against him, not understanding precisely what she needed but still knowing very well that she needed _something_. Reading her movement, Deacon dropped his hand to the waistband of her jean skirt, his fingers slipping slowly inside the fabric; he ran the pads of his fingers along the bare flesh of her lower abdomen. Rayna inhaled sharply and Deacon pulled back to look at her, his eyes searching her face. His eyebrows raised in silent question as his fingers gently tickled her flesh. Rayna bit her lip and nodded, bringing her lips back to his and sweeping her tongue inside his mouth.

Deacon's hand crept lower, his fingers trailing over her flesh as he worked his way farther and farther down. He moved slowly, the butterflies in his stomach seemingly having found their way to his hands, which were shaking, anticipation and nerves making his hand quiver; his inner voice would have laughed at him: Deacon Claybourne _nervous_ to touch a woman, but no thoughts were in his head except for the one where he was about to _touch_ Rayna. His hand had just reached the top of her panties, sliding over the outside, when they heard a throat clearing behind them. Deacon froze, then quickly pulled his hand from her skirt.

Turning, being very careful to keep his lower half hidden in the shadows, he saw Tandy and Sam standing there, Tandy's hands on her hips, a very deep crease in her brow.

An image of Lamar interrupting them in a similar, though admittedly much more innocent state flashed through his mind, "Wow," Deacon breathed, so only Rayna could hear him, "Bad timing runs in your family," He shook his head and stepped away from Rayna. When he looked down at her, her eyes were closed, and her lips were still puckered. Her eyes fluttered open to meet his, and his breath left him—it was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen.

"Watty wants to see you." Tandy addressed Rayna, but she didn't take her eyes from Deacon.

Rayna's eyes opened and she laughed, the color rising in her cheeks. She tucked her hair behind her ears and stepped away from Deacon, smiling shyly at him. She didn't make eye contact with Tandy or Sam as she walked past them, heading back into the bar. Rayna didn't notice that only Sam, giving a meaningful look to Tandy that seemed to say _be nice_ and a sympathetic look that seemed to say _I'm sorry_ to Deacon, followed her.

When Sam and Rayna were back inside, Tandy stepped forward.

Deacon jammed a hand into his pocket, trying to hold himself down. He turned to face Tandy, and leaned up against the wall. When he saw the look on Tandy's face, he didn't need his hand in his pocket anymore.

" _What_ are you doing with my sister?" She asked, her voice betraying her obvious ire.

Deacon bit back a chuckle—like father, like one daughter, apparently. "I'm, uh," He ran his fingers through his hair, shrugging; once again, he didn't know how to answer, "Playing guitar for her." _And falling in…_

Tandy let out a huff of air, "Oh, really?" She asked, crossing her arms over her chest and arching an eyebrow at him, "That's funny. Because, from where _I_ was standing, I didn't see much guitar playing going on. In fact, from where I was, it looked like you were rounding second and getting ready to slide into third."

Deacon's eyes widened and he glanced away, focusing his gaze on a green dumpster up against the wall instead. "I…" He started, not sure what to say. Tandy had enough to say for the both of them.

Tandy sighed, "She's not like your other girls, Deacon," Tandy said, her voice suddenly serious as she spoke through gritted teeth.

Deacon looked at Tandy then, suddenly desperate to impress the fact that he absolutely knew that upon her, "I know that." He said, nodding once, and swallowing hard around the emotion in his throat; he didn't know which would be worse, at this point, letting Tandy know how much he cared for her sister or _not_ letting her know, "Believe me, I know that." He dropped his gaze to the floor, "She's different," He nodded again, his voice suddenly so low Tandy had to lean forward to hear it, "She makes me different."

Tandy snapped her head back in shock, her face growing slightly dark. She scoffed lightly, but her voice was suddenly tender, "Well, we'll see about that." She spun on her heel and walked towards the door of the bar, "Watty wanted to see you, too," She opened the door for him. When he walked through it, she put her hand on his chest and stared at him, "If you _hurt her_ , Deacon Claybourne," She said, her tone icy, "I swear I'll kill you myself." She tilted her head to the side, "Capisci?"

Deacon smiled at Tandy, a genuine smile; he was glad that Rayna had someone to look out for her. "I won't." He said, nodding.

Considering him with narrowed eyes, Tandy removed her hand from his chest and let him go through the door. Shaking her head, she followed him, letting the door close behind her with a slam.

. . .

Tandy and Sam had gone home; as Rayna and Tandy had hugged goodbye, Tandy had whispered a warning in Rayna's ear. Rayna laughed, then rolled her eyes as she leaned over to give Sam a hug.

Now, Rayna sat in the vinyl booth next to Deacon, the smoke from the bar still billowing around them. Across from them sat Chad, his head swiveling this way and that following leggy blondes and brunettes as they made their way across the bar.

"You," Chad said, leaning forward and pointing a long bony finger at Rayna, "Know how to handle yourself."

Rayna shook her head and laughed; since they'd been seated, several people had come up to their table to compliment them on their set, and more than a few men had complimented Rayna's ability to deal with the raunchy comments thrown her way in the middle of it.

"Thanks," Rayna said, smiling shyly and sipping on her Coke.

"Speaking of," Chad said, though they weren't really speaking of. He leaned in further across the table, "What are you doing for Halloween, Rayna?" He asked, smiling.

Rayna shook her head, "Nothing, really."

"We," Chad said, motioning between himself and Deacon.

" _He_ ," Deacon said, leaning forward to emphasize the word, his finger jutting out and pointing at Chad.

" _We_ ," Chad said, grinning, and Deacon rolled his eyes, "Are having a Halloween party. On Halloween. You," Chad pointed at her, "Should come."

Rayna smiled, "Oh…" She hadn't been to a party in a very long time; she'd only been to a few _ever_ , in fact, and truthfully, she hadn't worked out exactly whether she enjoyed them or not.

Deacon shook his head, "You don't have to come." At her slightly crestfallen face, Deacon rushed on, realizing his mistake, "I mean… I could come over to Watty's to hand out candy with you, if you want, or we could go do something else, see a movie… We _do not_ have to go to this party." Deacon said, turning to stare at Chad.

"Oh, _come on_! This party is going to be so rad!" Chad said, throwing his hands up in the air. "You can't miss it, man." Chad grinned, "Come on, I will dress up _as a member of Whitesnake_ if you come."

"That," Deacon laughed, "Would be a tempting offer. If," He said, "You didn't already do that every single day."

Rayna laughed, "I'll come." She said. When Deacon looked at her, she smiled.

"You sure?" Deacon asked, reaching his hand over to her knee.

Rayna could feel the heat from his hand even through her jeans; she nodded, "Yeah, I'm sure."

Just then, a man came up to their table. Rayna instantly recognized him as the man who'd been talking to Watty after one of their shows back in August. He was a tall, thin man with sandy blond hair—he wasn't wearing a suit this time, just jeans and a black button down shirt. He leaned slightly over their table, resting one hand on the edge.

"Ms. Jaymes," He said, reaching across Deacon to shake her hand, "Mr. Claybourne," He offered his hand to Deacon, "I'm David Coverdale."

Without meaning to, Deacon's eyes shot to Chad. Chad's eyes widened, and Deacon couldn't help the smile that came across his face.

David chuckled, "Obviously not _that_ David Coverdale," He looked at Chad briefly, then back to Rayna and Deacon, "I'm head of A&R at a very small—very, very small, actually—label just getting started on music row, and I just have to tell you what a brilliant show you put on tonight, Ms. Jaymes." He smiled warmly at her, "You, too, Mr. Claybourne."

Rayna smiled, her eyes wide, "Thank you," She turned to Deacon, who echoed the sentiment.

"Anyway," He said, nodding a bit, "I just wanted to introduce myself. I've told Watty that I'll definitely be in touch." He turned and quickly walked away, heading straight for the exit despite the fact that another band was still playing on stage.

When he was gone, Rayna turned to look at Deacon, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open. "Did that just happen?" She asked, smiling.

Deacon nodded, "It did." He smiled, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Chad smiled, "Do you know what that means?"

Deacon grinned, "You might get your spot in Whitesnake after all?"

Rayna leaned her head against Deacon's shoulder and yawned, the day finally catching up with her. David Coverdale's words ran through her head on repeat; despite the long day, her tired body, and the way the smoke felt like it corroded her eyes, Rayna, with her head on Deacon's shoulder and his hand drawing concentric circles on her knee, had never before felt more _awake_.


	16. October 23rd, 1988

_October 23_ _rd_ _, 1988_

The morning sun was shining, peeking through the trees nestled along the river. With their father out of town on some form of business or another, Tandy had convinced Rayna to go to church— _the later service_ —for the first time in months. Now, they were strolling along the river, their stomachs full from a late brunch, paper cups of coffee in their hands. The sound of their heels echoed against the concrete, and Rayna pulled her black and white scarf tighter around her neck against the onslaught of cold.

"You know, I'd almost forgotten about all the hellfire and brimstone," Rayna said, smiling as the wind whipped her hair around her face.

Tandy chuckled, taking a sip of her coffee, "Wouldn't be a sermon by pastor Greenleaf if it weren't full up on hellfire and brimstone."

Rayna shook her head, "No, it certainly would not."

"So," Tandy said, drawing the word out a bit, her eyes focused on the path in front of them, "Baby sister, after last night I have to ask, _what_ are you _doing_ with Deacon?"

Rayna stopped in her tracks, a pebble skittering forward with the force of her stop. Tandy kept walking for a moment before noticing Rayna was not beside her. Turning around, she saw Rayna stopped a few feet back, her nose pink from the cold.

"Jesus, Tandy," Rayna breathed out, "Is _that_ why you brought me to church today?"

Tandy stepped towards Rayna and rolled her eyes a little, "Oh, come on. You know I'm not nearly as subtle as all that—I invited you to church because I miss going to brunch _after_ church with you." Tandy smiled, "Sam's not nearly as fun to drink bootleg mimosas with."

Rayna laughed despite herself, but she didn't keep walking forward. Instead, she meandered over to a bench and sat down, crossing her legs at the ankles and tucking them underneath the bench. Tandy joined her crossing her legs at the knees, and they both sat in silence for a moment warming their hands against the paper cups of coffee in their hands.

"Well, good," Rayna said, finally, "Because I think you and I _both_ know you lost the right to be passive aggressive about premarital sex in the bed of Andrew Campbell's truck your junior year of high school." She didn't smile, but there was humor in her voice.

Tandy closed her eyes and winced, "Not the proudest two minutes of my life," She opened her eyes and glanced at Rayna, "So… have you?" She asked, bracing herself for the answer.

"Had premarital sex?" Rayna asked, biting back a smile and trying to lighten the mood a bit.

Tandy laughed, "Yes."

Rayna flushed, "No," She shook her head, "Not yet." Her voice was a whisper, a confession that she'd thought about it.

The inevitability of the moment was not lost on Tandy, but it still didn't make her any more eager to hear that her baby sister, the one she'd helped bathe, was thinking about having sex.

"Rayna," Tandy sighed, inching closer to Rayna on the bench, "You spent a lot of time _not_ ruining farm boys in the beds of their daddy's trucks," Tandy said, turning her head to look at her sister, "Lord knows you could have ruined more than a few," Tandy said, bumping her shoulder against Rayna's, "So, I'm just…"

"Worried," Rayna supplied, nodding her head as she gazed out at the river, watching the water creak by, "I know."

"It's what I do." She shrugged, "I worry about you," Tandy said, a ghost of a smile on her face.

"And I love you for it," Rayna said, her voice gentle.

Tandy opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. Sensing her action, Rayna looked at Tandy out of the corner of her eyes.

"What is it?" She asked on a heavy sigh, arching an eyebrow. "Far be it from you to ever keep your mouth shut, so you might as well just say it now."

Tandy let out a huff of air and watched as it made its way into the late morning air, "I just…" She trailed off, and then shrugged, "Babe," Tandy said, her voice gentle, "Don't you think you deserve more than being felt up in an alley behind a bar with dumpsters as an audience and broken beer glass under your feet?"

Rayna clenched her jaw, "It's not like that, Tandy," Rayna's voice was low, the anger bubbling just under the surface. She clenched the fist of her hand not holding the coffee cup and tried to control her anger—she didn't need an argument right now, not with her sister, the only family member with whom she was currently on speaking terms.

Tandy turned her gaze to the river, "That's what it looked like." She jutted her chin out and lifted her head a little.

"Well," Rayna still spoke through clenched teeth, "Things aren't always exactly what they look like," She turned to look at her sister, "You certainly ought to know that."

Tandy sighed, brought her coffee cup to her lips and drained the last of its contents, "I just want to be sure you know what you're getting yourself into."

Rayna laughed then, her fingers playing along the rim of the lid of her coffee cup as she balanced it against her lap, "Of course I don't, Tandy," Her voice dropped, "I've never been here before." Rayna took a sip of her coffee then tossed it in the trashcan next to the bench, "But there are some things I'm just going to have to learn on my own."

"I know that," Tandy leaned over Rayna and dropped her empty cup in the trash, "I do," She nodded, "I just don't want to see you get hurt. I've known guys like Deacon…"

Rayna cut her off, "No," Her voice was stern, "You haven't." She narrowed her eyes at Tandy letting her know that this point was _not_ up for debate. " _I've_ never known anyone like him," Rayna said, matter-of-factly.

Tandy ran her hand through her hair, letting out a frustrated sigh, "Fine," She shook her head, "I just… don't want to see you get your heart broken," Tandy said, her voice suddenly quiet.

Rayna smiled, "I don't want that either, but…" She shrugged, "I think you know me better than that. _Fear_ of something isn't going to stop me." Rayna grinned, "It never has."

Tandy laughed, leaning her head on Rayna's shoulder, "Yes, well, I know _that's_ true, but it's _different_ , Rayna." Tandy's voice grew serious, and she turned to fully face her sister on the bench, "Love is different," Tandy cleared her throat, "When it…" She trailed off, "You don't get all the pieces back."

"Tandy, come on," Rayna said, her voice quiet but thick with emotion, "You and I haven't had all the pieces since Momma died."

Tandy felt the tears sting her eyes, the cold seeping in and making the sensation worse, "That's true." She nodded, "That's true," Her voice was barely a whisper.

They settled into silence, watching as people meandered along the river talking, laughing, holding hands.

"Look," Rayna's voice cut the silence, "I know what you're scared of, but I don't need you to protect me from it." Rayna sighed, "You _can't_ protect me from it." Rayna turned to face Tandy, "What I _need_ is for you to be happy for me."

"I am," Tandy said, reaching for her sister's hand.

Rayna cut her a look, then laughed a little at Tandy's expression.

"I _am_ ," She said, "Just… if he hurts you, Rayna," Tandy gave Rayna's hand a squeeze, " _Daddy_ is going to be the least of his worries."

Rayna laughed and squeezed Tandy's hand back, looking down at their joined hands, "I wouldn't have it any other way," Rayna said. Smiling, she stood from the bench, bringing Tandy up with her. They walked beside the river, still holding hands, "You know," Rayna said, "You and _Sam_ might want to give the whole alley thing a try…"

Tandy's mouth dropped; she stared at her sister in disbelief, then laughter erupted from her—she bumped Rayna's shoulder with her own, "Is that right?"

Rayna smiled, a light flush creeping up her neck to settle on her cheeks, "That's right," Rayna nodded, a twinkle in her eye.


	17. October 31st, 1988(a)

_October 31_ _st_ _, 1988_

Rayna hadn't planned on doing anything for Halloween. She'd planned on holing up at Watty's and avoiding watching scary movies completely. She'd always loved Halloween, but not so much for the gore of it. She wasn't good at the gore, and she certainly didn't like being scared—watching little kids dress up and run around in cute costumes was more her speed. But, when Chad had invited her to his Halloween party, she'd jumped at the chance to spend time with Deacon.

Deacon had offered several times to ditch the party and come to Watty's for movies and junk food, but Rayna thought it might be nice to go to a party, especially given the fact that she'd really only ever been to a few. Plus, when she thought about it, being alone with Deacon scared her. 'Scare,' she knew, was not the right word. Being alone with Deacon _thrilled_ her, and _that_ is what scared her.

The costume part proved slightly problematic. Rayna had actually had more than a few paying gigs recently and she was becoming a regular at some spots, but she still didn't have extra money to spend on a frivolous costume she'd likely only wear for one night and then toss out or stash in the back of her closet. She'd never been as good at conspicuous consumption as the rest of her family, but she still wasn't used to pinching pennies by any stretch of the imagination; that part was new for her. Thankfully, Tandy had been smuggling Rayna's clothes from their father's house slowly but surely, so Rayna at least had far more options to work with than she did when she first arrived at Watty's house with a single duffle bag to her name.

Which is how she ended up in the small half-filled walk-in closet she'd begun to think of as her own, staring at her old outfits, trying to make something— _anything_ —work as a costume. Frustration was slowly working its way through her body and she was just about to give up and go to the Halloween party as _an aspiring country singer_ when something tucked in the back caught her eye. Tilting her head to the side, she pulled out a knee-length suede skirt and looked at it, the wheels turning in her head. Digging a bit through her shirts, she emerged with a pink v-neck top, then gathered a brown leather belt from the back of the door and a pair of short boots from the shoe rack.

As she stood looking in the mirror, she smiled. Her long red hair was curled and, true, was a bit long for the look she was going for tonight, but it would have to do. She smoothed her hand down over her thigh; the skirt was well-fitted, hugging her frame, and the shirt was, too, dipping down in the front and exposing a hint of her cleavage. She grabbed one of the lipsticks she'd been borrowing from Tandy, applied a layer, and headed out the door.

Rayna cranked the window down on Watty's truck so a small sliver let some fresh air in as she drove towards Deacon's house; the air was brisk as it filtered in, but the breeze felt good on her skin. As she drove, her thoughts turned to Watty. He had been so welcoming to her, allowing her to live in his house rent-free no matter how much she tried to pay him, feeding her, letting her use his old truck whenever she wanted, not to mention helping her further her career in a way she never ceased to be thankful for. She started to feel the emotion swell in her throat as she thought of him— _this is what a father should be_ , she thought.

She felt safe and protected in Watty's care. She felt _loved_. Sometimes, she felt guilty for feeling that way about Watty when she didn't feel it for her own father. But, they were so different, Watty and her father. Watty protected her, but he didn't smother her—he didn't try to control her. Rayna didn't need curfews and strict rules to behave. She'd always had a good head on her shoulders, she'd always been wise beyond her years—likely a byproduct of having lost her mother so early on in her life, Rayna wasn't interested in breaking rules and getting in trouble. She wasn't interested in being a rebel; at least, not in the conventional sense of the word. She was interested in singing and following her dreams, which didn't happen to be the cookie cutter ones her own father had always wanted for her: Vanderbilt, a degree in something practical, followed by a high paying practical job where she could wear pencil skirts every day. God love her sister, but Rayna had never wanted those things for herself, not for a minute. Her father had never accepted that, though—let alone understood it. Watty understood that in a way her father never had; Watty understood _her_ in a way her father never had. In a way her father never _would,_ she yet, Rayna didn't feel a fondness for Watty simply because he didn't enforce strict rules for her, or even simply because he encouraged her actual dreams—it was something else entirely; something almost innate that she couldn't quite seem to put her finger on. She didn't think she'd ever be able to place it, but she was just thankful to have it in the first place.

Rayna smiled as she pulled up to Deacon's; tissue ghosts hung in the trees, blowing on a slight breeze. Haphazardly carved Jack-O-Lanterns lined the steps of the porch, some obviously going for scary but all of them looking silly. She wondered if Deacon had carved one, laughing a bit as she envisioned him concentrating on carving the flesh of the pumpkin, his brow creasing in the middle as it always did when he fully concentrated on something. Music blasted from a boom box on the front porch, the familiar tones of _Monster Mash_ carrying through the air, and a creepy fog rolled across the front yard where makeshift grave markers stood. Rayna killed the engine and sat in the truck, peering out the passenger side window as she watched the people in the crowd littering the front lawn, her eyes automatically scanning for Deacon as the butterflies once again invaded her stomach. She thought maybe at this point she should just build them their own sanctuary inside her stomach, since they didn't appear to be interested in vacating the residence any time soon. In fact, they were becoming quite the constant presence for her; all she had to do was _think_ of Deacon, and they appeared.

Rayna didn't see Deacon, though, and her heart sank a bit as she took in the crowd. She couldn't help but notice that there were girls everywhere, and what was worse was how provocatively they all seemed to be dressed—most hardly wore clothing at all, their skirts short, their tight-fitting tops leaving very little to the imagination. Rayna looked self-consciously down at her own outfit, wondering if she should just start the truck back up, go back to Watty's, change into her sweats and eat raw cookie dough until she got sick.

Just then, she heard a knock on the passenger window. Turning her head, she saw Chad standing there, grinning. His blond hair was teased high on his head, resembling a very deliberate bird's nest.

He waved excitedly at her, "Rayna!" He shouted, louder than was strictly necessary to be heard through the window, "You made it!"

Smiling, Rayna nodded and waved at him as she exited the truck, making her way around the bed. When she saw Chad's full outfit, she couldn't help but laugh, bringing her hand up to her mouth. He'd apparently made good on his promise to Deacon—tonight, he was the spitting image of David Coverdale, the lead singer of Whitesnake.

Chad grinned again, doing a little half-spin before turning to fully face her. His eyes wandered up and down her frame, taking in her costume. Rayna didn't feel uncomfortable under his gaze, which she appreciated.

He gave her a thumbs up, "You look like you just stepped right out of a damn John Hughes movie," He stepped back to peruse her again, "Claire. The Breakfast Club," When Rayna nodded, Chad clapped once and then nodded in approval, "A girl after my own heart."

Rayna smiled at him, pleased that he was able to recognize her costume so quickly, but her eyes were focused over Chad's shoulder, scanning the crowd.

Chad laughed, watching her, "'Course, we both know it ain't _my_ heart you're after." When Rayna looked at him, Chad winked at her and she blushed, "Deacon!" Chad yelled loudly over his shoulder, startling Rayna a bit, "Your girl's here!" He shouted, then took Rayna gently by the elbow and led her up the walkway to the bottom of the porch stairs. "He's been holed up in his room, moodily playing his guitar waiting for you to arrive," Chad let go of Rayna's arm and turned to face the door, "Deac—"

Chad stopped mid-yell when Deacon appeared in the doorway, holding his guitar as though he'd been so excited to see Rayna he hadn't remembered to leave it in his room. Seeing Rayna, Deacon smiled.

"Hey," He said, his voice sounding somewhat shy, an unusual tone for him; he was always so sure of himself, but Rayna had a way of putting him on edge like he'd never before experienced. He felt nervous around her constantly, but somehow didn't begrudge the feeling. He welcomed it.

"Hey," Rayna smiled back up at him.

"Happy Halloween," He nodded, and came down the steps, meeting Rayna and Chad at the bottom. Deacon leaned his guitar up against the bottom of the porch railing.

"Happy Halloween," She nodded back, watching as he joined them after the guitar was settled.

"You look…" Deacon's eyes wandered up and down her body and he grinned, "Beautiful." He finished, though 'sexy' is the word that flashed like a neon sign in the back of his brain. Before he met Rayna, all the scantily clad girls running around this party might have drawn him in; but now, Rayna, wearing a fairly modest outfit as far as Halloween costumes went was the only thing he could see worth looking at.

"Thanks," Rayna breathed out; she waved her hands over her outfit, "Claire." She said, nodding, "From The Breakfast Club."

Deacon smiled, "Perfect," He said, without stopping to think that he was apt to find everything Rayna ever did perfect.

Rayna's eyes skated over his outfit: worn jeans with holes in them, work boots, and a plaid shirt with a white t-shirt underneath. Rayna immediately felt her mouth go dry. He looked so… manly. She'd never seen him so rugged before, his stubble visible in the porch light.

"I'm a… lumberjack," Deacon shrugged, a grin working its way across his face.

Eyeing Deacon, Chad shook his head, "Nah," he said, reaching up to his ear and removing his snap on stud earring. "Tonight," He pressed the earring into Deacon's hand, "Tonight, you're _Bender_ , man." Chad finished with a wink, "Drinks? Rayna?"

Rayna bit her lip, trying to decide; she was still easing her way into the world of alcohol, "Um," She said, not sure, "What do you have?"

"Beer?" Chad asked. At Rayna's wrinkled nose, Chad chuckled, "Wine? Wine cooler?" When she nodded and shrugged, Chad turned his attention to Deacon, "Beer, man?"

Deacon cleared his throat, "No, thanks," He shook his head, "I'm good."

Chad raised his eyebrows in shock, but turned and headed towards the kitchen anyway, remaining silent. Deacon was sure he had a pithy remark on his tongue, but was glad he had kept it to himself.

When he was gone, Rayna turned to look at Deacon, her head tilting to the side curiously as she regarded him, "You're not drinking?" She asked, puzzled.

Deacon brought Chad's earring up to his ear and snapped it on, "No." He shook his head again, the fake stud catching a bit of the porch light, "Not tonight."

"Why?" Rayna asked, her head still tilted.

Deacon ran a hand through his hair, laughing a little nervously, "Chad's friends can get a little…" Deacon trailed off, searching for the right word, "Rowdy," Deacon finished.

Rayna furrowed her brow, not understanding the connection.

Deacon shifted his weight on his feet a bit, "I want to, ah… make sure…you're alright," He shrugged, "Especially if you're drinking… I want to…" He trailed off again, jamming his hands in his pockets. He knew the words he was looking for, but he couldn't seem to get them out. It wasn't a thing he'd ever felt before; not to this degree, anyway—and it was certainly something he'd never admitted to before. The inherent need to _protect_ someone was something he was just starting to get used to.

Realization swept over Rayna, "Take care of me?" She asked, her voice quiet and suddenly filled with emotion.

Deacon shrugged, "Well, yeah."

Rayna ducked her head a bit and opened her mouth to speak—before she could say anything, Chad barreled down the stairs with a plastic cup outstretched in his hand. Rayna took the proffered cup and lifted it to her nose. Inhaling, she raised her eyebrows at Chad. It smelled sweet.

Chad laughed, "Boone's Farm." He winked at her again, "You can't be seventeen and _not_ drink Boone's Farm. I'm pretty sure it's an actual law."

Chuckling, Rayna brought the cup to her lips and sipped, not needing to tip it very far back as it was full to the top—it was apple-flavored and sweet, almost sickly so, but it didn't taste unpleasant. Smiling, she took another sip, letting it float around her tongue before she swallowed.

"Not bad, right?" Chad asked.

Rayna nodded and took another sip, enjoying the slight burn of it as it went down her throat. She was still pretty unused to drinking, so she knew it wouldn't take much to have her feeling buzzed. Still, the butterflies in her stomach dancing voraciously from Deacon's proximity to her demanded she drink more. As the three of them stood around chatting, she drained her cup.

A group of laughing guys stumbled up the porch, the largest one of them coming precariously close to Deacon's guitar, which was still perched against the porch. Deacon reached out and grabbed the guitar by its neck.

"I better…" He held it up and nodded his head in the direction of the house, "You okay?" Deacon asked, looking at Rayna.

At her nod, he smiled and went up the stairs, clutching his guitar in his right hand.

"Claire and Bender," Chad said, "Perfect."

Rayna rolled her eyes, but she was laughing. "So," Rayna looked at him, tipping her cup back to get the last few drops out, "Is your future ex-girlfriend here tonight, Chad?" Rayna asked, her eyes surveying the crowd.

Chad laughed, his head tilting back; he nodded, surveying the half-dressed girls in the yard, "Definitely. More than one, probably." He looked at her cup, "You need a refill." He grabbed her cup from her hands and bounded up the stairs.

Suddenly alone, Rayna wrung her hands. As her eyes traveled over the crowd, she couldn't help but feel awkward. It wasn't a new sensation for her; after all, she'd spent the majority of her school years feeling like a fish out of water. But this was a situation in which she'd willingly placed herself, so somehow the weight of it felt heavier. She was glancing up at the front door willing Deacon to emerge from it when suddenly she felt herself surrounded, felt bodies standing too close to her.

When she dropped her head back down, she saw three young men surrounding her. They were all tall and of varying weights with dark hair; they were dressed as various characters Rayna recognized, some more easily recognizable than the others.

One of the guys, dressed as Popeye, leaned in to her, "Hey, sweetheart," He said and Rayna could smell alcohol heavy on his breath, "Want to be my Olive Oil?" He asked, picking up a tendril of her hair by its end. Rayna jerked her shoulders back as his fingers grazed her skin.

Rayna leaned her head away and stepped back from him, moving her hair out of his reach, "I think your friend," Rayna nodded her head at the guy standing next to him: a tall skinny guy with dark hair, "Is more suited to that task."

The young men chuckled, "She's feisty." The tall skinny guy said.

The third one, silent until now, stepped forward, leaning into her. "So, Claire," He said, having obviously placed her costume, his eyes roving up and down her body. Rayna braced herself, trying to hold in an involuntary shudder—he was looking at her lasciviously, and there was something about his gaze that made her skin crawl. He leaned over her further, his eyes staring directly at her cleavage, "Can you do the _lipstick trick_ for us?" He sniggered, and his friends closed ranks around her so that she couldn't escape. The guy looked around at his friends, smirking, "Maybe you can use something _other than lipstick_ , though," He said, grabbing himself through his jeans as he smiled darkly at her. "Come on, baby," He said, the index finger of his free hand tracing the swell of her breast where her shirt dipped down to reveal her cleavage, "I'll be _real_ gentle with you."

"Get your _fucking hands_ off her." A voice boomed from the top of the porch.

All three men stuttered back from her, and suddenly Deacon was right next to her, his eyes blazing as he looked wildly from one man to the next.

Popeye raised hands up, pushing them out in front of himself, "Hey, man, we were just…"

" _Leaving_." Deacon said, his voice rough with anger, "Leaving is just what _the fuck_ you were doing."

Popeye nodded, recognizing the look in Deacon's eyes, "Yeah, man." He nodded again, "We were leaving."

He and makeshift Olive Oil turned to walk away, but the third one, the one who'd touched her, didn't move. He stood still, staring at Deacon. Finally, a wide smile broke out on his face, but it was unkind.

" _Real nice_ piece of ass you have there," He said, his gaze flickering to Rayna. "I'd love to get my hands on her for a few minutes," He moved his eyes slowly down her body, stopping to stare at her breasts before his gaze traveled down her legs.

Deacon felt white-hot rage surge through him, and he stepped forward, his fist clenched tightly at his side. He was envisioning the sweet sound of the guy's face under his fist when he felt Rayna's soft hand on the outside of his curled fist.

"Deacon, no." She whispered, running her hand gently up his forearm. She wrapped her hand around his forearm and squeezed.

At her touch, Deacon unclenched his fist, then turned to look at her, nodding once. Rayna smiled, and stepped away from them just as Chad came down the stairs with her plastic cup refilled.

"Man," The guy said, lowering his voice so only Deacon could hear him, "I bet you'd love to punch the hell out of me." His eyes shot over Deacon's shoulder to where Rayna stood; he sneered as he looked back at Deacon, "She sure got you pussy-whipped, don't she?"

Deacon let out a bark of laughter, unfriendly, mean. Then he stepped towards the guy, his voice lowered when he spoke, "Jealous?" Deacon narrowed his eyes, as he watched the guy's eyes flash knowing he'd hit the mark, "Could be _much_ worse," Deacon smirked at him, "I could be _you_. If you touch her again, you won't be doing anything else with your hand ever again." He said, "Now get the _fuck_ out of here." Deacon said, turning his back and heading to where Rayna and Chad stood, watching him.

Deacon could feel the guy's eyes on his back for a long moment until he turned and walked away, disappearing across the street and into the night rejoining his friends. When Deacon reached Chad and Rayna, he let out a sigh and ran his hand through his hair.

"You alright?" He asked Rayna, concern in his voice.

Rayna nodded, "Yeah." She looked at him, "Are you?"

Deacon nodded, feeling the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, "Yeah." He looked at Chad, "What the hell, Chad?" He curbed the urge to yell at him for leaving Rayna alone; Rayna, he knew, could handle herself—she'd proven that several times in seedy bars.

"That's Doug." Chad shrugged, "Doug's a fucking asshole."

Deacon laughed then, "Yeah, to say the least."

The three of them chuckled, and Rayna sipped her drink while Chad nursed his beer—they fell into a comfortable conversation, talking about both David Coverdales, The Breakfast Club, and Rayna and Deacon's next gig. Rayna smiled into her glass. Despite the uneasy confrontation with those guys, she was having fun. She felt happy, standing next to Deacon, feeling the wine work its way through her body as it warmed her from the inside out in a way that felt not unlike the way Deacon affected her when he was near. She felt _protected_ when she was with him, she felt _safe_ , and yet she felt like she was in the middle of completely uncharted territory when she was with him, her body and desire for him taking her far beyond anywhere she had been before.

A shrill voice from the left broke her from her reverie, "Rayna?" Rayna froze as the voice, instantly recognizable, came closer, "Rayna Wyatt?" The voice continued, its owner sashaying up to the threesome at the bottom of the stairs, "As I live and breathe, it _is_ you!"

Rayna pressed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and then opened her eyes to stare at their new companion. She took another quick sip from her now-full cup.

"Kelly Crossley," Rayna said, a fake smile overtaking her face as she looked at Kelly.

Deacon put his hand in his pocket and watched Rayna curiously as she interacted with their new guest.

Kelly waved a perfectly manicured hand over herself— " _Madonna_ tonight." She laughed, the sound high-pitched, shrill, and grating.

Rayna took in Kelly's blonde curled and teased hair, her strategically drawn-on beauty mark, her tulle skirt, high heels and skimpy white lace camisole which was see-through over her stomach and barely containing her breasts at the top. Her lips were a bright, tawdry red. She looked like Madonna, but a cheaper version.

Kelly looked at Rayna, "And you're…?" She trailed off, her eyes roaming over Rayna.

Rayna held in an eye roll at Kelly's condescending tone, "Claire Standish." Rayna replied; at Kelly's blank expression Rayna did roll her eyes, "The Breakfast Club."

"Right," Kelly said, drawing the word out, her mouth turning up a bit at the sides in an attempt at a smile, but it was unfriendlier than that, "Rayna Wyatt at a _party_ …" She smirked a little, "And a _cool_ one, at that. The girls are _not_ going to believe this."

Rayna forced a laugh out in a huff of air; the _girls_ Kelly was referring to played a large part in making Rayna's high school years just this side of unbearable, "Actually, it's Jaymes now. I go by Rayna Jaymes."

"Right." She smiled, aware of the two males surrounding them, "Aren't you _still in school_?" She asked, condescension dripping from her words, " _High school_?"

Rayna clenched her jaw, "No," She shook her head, "I graduated early."

"Oh." Kelly pursed her lips, "You're still _singing_?" Kelly asked, her tone disinterested.

Rayna nodded, "Yep. It's how I'm making my living right now, actually."

Kelly ran her tongue over her teeth, "Right," She said again, not really paying attention. Kelly's eyes flickered over Chad and then settled on Deacon. Her gaze raked slowly up and down his body. She fluttered her eyelids, "And _who_ is _this_?" Her voice was suddenly an octave lower. She cut her eyes back to Rayna, obviously expecting an introduction.

Noticing Kelly's gaze, Deacon edged closer to Rayna, taking his hand out of his pocket and grazing his hand against hers.

"This is my b…" Rayna trailed off, the color rising in her cheeks; she _really_ had to stop doing that. "Deacon." She shook her head, the color suffusing her face further, "My friend, Deacon," She amended, thoroughly flustered and refusing to meet Deacon's gaze.

"Oh, _friend_?" Kelly said, an odd grin turning her mouth; Rayna recognized it from three years at school with this girl, "It's good you have one of those." She dropped her voice to a mock whisper, "Finally."

Deacon felt himself stiffen at Kelly's words, the anger rising in him. Rayna finally looked at him and gave him a small smile letting him know that she was used to this from Kelly.

When no one laughed, Kelly was undeterred, "Deacon, was it?" She asked, her eyes staring at Deacon; he gave a small nod and rolled his eyes when he saw her gaze focused on his chest. "And you're a lumberjack?" She said, her well-manicured nail jutting out at him as her eyes continued searching his body.

Deacon gritted his teeth, "Bender." He corrected, pointing to the clip-on earring he was wearing.

Kelly's face fell a bit, but she smiled again, attempting to be sexy, "Well, Deacon," She said, her voice lilting, "What is it that you do?"

"I play guitar." Deacon replied, his tone clipped.

Kelly's eyes widened a bit and she smirked again, "You must be good with your hands."

Deacon slid his hand around Rayna's waist, "For Rayna." He said, smiling; he meant it as a follow up to his previous statement—that he played guitar for her—but he enjoyed the look of annoyance that flashed through Kelly's eyes at his words as they took on a different meaning.

Deacon smiled as Rayna pressed the side of her body against his.

Kelly's eyes narrowed in on Deacon's hand, his thumb running in light circles around Rayna's hip bone.

"Well," Kelly said, a mean smirk settling in over her face, "You should find me later," She winked at Deacon and pushed her breasts together and out in a move that was anything but subtle, "You can treat me like a virgin." She laughed, her head tilting back with the effort.

Chad, who had been silently watching the scene unfold with a sort of abject horror, cleared his throat, "Sugar," Chad said, addressing Kelly, "I'm sure you've noticed that Deacon here isn't exactly _interested_ in treating you like anything… least of all something you definitely _ain't_ …" He nodded his head to Rayna, whose jaw was still slightly open in shock at Kelly's boldness, "Me, on the other hand?" Chad grinned at her, "I'm _very_ interested."

Kelly finally looked at Chad, then let out a sigh of disgust, "No, thanks." She said, looking back at Deacon, "Have _fun_ with the real thing then, I guess." Kelly spat out, cutting her eyes to Rayna quickly before she turned on her heel and disappeared further into the party.

Chad grinned, then rocked himself up on his toes before he turned and followed Kelly.

"Kelly, baby, wait!" Chad called, following her through the crowd.

Rayna could feel her face burning as she turned away from Deacon and walked over to the secluded area at the side of the house. Kelly had just flown Rayna's perceived virginity like a flag from some desperate ship. She propped herself up on the brick wall that stood between the two houses, setting her cup down on the wall and angling her body away from Deacon. She heard his footsteps in the gravel and tried to calm her emotions, willing her face to return to its normal color.

"So," Deacon said, leading with his head as he stood right in front of her, "Those are the types of girls you went to high school with, huh?" At Rayna's nod, Deacon laughed, "Charming."

Rayna rolled her eyes, "Yep. Now you can probably see why I spent a lot of time not fitting in." She gave him a sad smile, "She was right," She shrugged, "I _didn't_ have any friends."

Deacon smiled, pushing a bit of gravel around with his shoe, "Curse of the artist."

Rayna smiled a little, "I guess."

Deacon leaned against the wall, tilting his head up to look at her. Rayna couldn't help but notice how attractive he looked with the moonlight falling over his face.

He sighed, "The rest of the world grows up to be bankers, lawyers, doctors… we grow up to be _tortured_."

Rayna smiled at him then; she lifted her hand and ran her fingers softly through his hair before she dropped her hand back at her side, "Some of us more than others." She looked down at his outfit, and then back at his face, "You wear Bender well."

He smiled at her, "Thanks," Deacon held her gaze as he propped himself up on the wall next to her, "So…" He said, leaning towards her a little on the wall, "I guess we've officially established that _I'm your Deacon_ , huh?"

Rayna flushed again, the embarrassment creeping up her cheeks. Convinced he could see her reaction even in the dim light of the night, Rayna dropped her head in her hands, shaking her head, "Do you… want to be… my Deacon?"

He grinned, "Well, I damn sure don't want to be _anyone else's_ Deacon."

Rayna smiled, her heart beating a little flutter.

Deacon stared at her, his eyes skating over her face, "And what about you?" He reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, "Do you want to be… mine?"

Rayna smiled, suddenly shy, "I've never… been anyone's girlfriend before, Deacon, but…" She looked at him and smiled, "I'd sure love to start."

Deacon knew he should be scared of the word girlfriend. He always had been in the past; painting himself as anti-label any time a girl he was seeing had tried to pin him down about it. But with Rayna, the word didn't scare him—it did the opposite, in fact. It comforted him.

Deacon nodded, a grin spreading across his face, "Okay then."

Rayna laughed, "Okay then."

Deacon dropped down from the wall and stepped in front of Rayna. He lifted her skirt up a bit and then nudged her knees as far apart as they would go; he slid himself between them, the sides of his torso enveloped by her inner thighs. He reached his hand up to the back of her neck and tugged gently until she dropped her head.

He smiled against her mouth, "I'd like to make out with my girlfriend now," He said, and in any other world he would have felt cheesy, utterly ridiculous—but in this world, the one with Rayna, he just felt _happy_.

Deacon pressed his lips to hers, his tongue sliding into her mouth. Rayna brought her hands around his neck and played with the hair at the nape of his neck, sighing happily into his mouth as she kissed him back. The kiss grew deeper, until they were panting against one another's lips, Rayna's calves hooked around Deacon's hips, Deacon's hand cupping her breast through her shirt. Rayna whimpered into his mouth as his thumb brushed across her nipple.

Suddenly, the echoing sound of gravel crunching followed by a loud "Whoops!" Pulled them apart.

Panting, Deacon turned over his shoulder to see Chad standing behind them, a grin on his face.

"Sorry, guys," His words slurred slightly; he was drunk. "Don't stop on my account," He chuckled, stepping a bit closer to them, "I guess I won't have to play my music for too long tonight," He said, laughing,

Deacon shot Chad a warning look; Chad, inebriated, missed it completely.

"You're getting him all riled up, so it shouldn't take long," Chad winked at Rayna, the alcohol making it a slow and lazy one. "Not that it seems to _ever_ take him that long when he's thinking of you."

"Chad," Deacon said, his voice loudly cutting through the night.

Rayna's brow was furrowed as she looked between Chad and Deacon. Her eyes settled on Deacon, "What's he talking about?" She asked, her eyebrows rose with the question.

"I…" Chad announced, "Am talking about Deacon's nightly 'I've just seen Rayna' _rifle cleaning_."

"Chad!" Deacon said, his tone curt as he stepped away from Rayna, "You're drunk. _Go away_." He grabbed Chad by the arm and pushed him away, before walking in front of him and dragging him by the arm a bit roughly.

Chad stumbled a bit, but then relented, following Deacon. When they were far enough away from Rayna, Chad stopped and looked at Deacon, realization flooding through him even in his inebriated state, "Oops." He said, clapping his hand over his mouth.

Deacon sighed, dropping Chad's arm, "Yeah, _oops_." Deacon gave Chad a light shove, "Seriously, man. Go away."

"I can explain to her that…" Chad started, the guilt washing over him.

Deacon stared at him, but a small smile came across his face—he could never seem to bring himself to be fully mad at Chad, even with something as dire as what just happened.

"You've done enough," Deacon said, and then motioned with his head for Chad to leave.

As he watched Chad stumble away, Deacon shook his head and then turned on his heel, walking back over to where Rayna still sat on the wall. He cursed the dark, as he was unable to read her features.

"Rayna, look…" Deacon said, his words a bit rushed; he was unsure how to handle this. He opened his mouth to try, and just as he was about to speak a group of people laughed loudly as they made their way on to the gravel. Deacon turned to see that they all had beers in hand as they moved to the side of the house, where they leaned up against the house and started lighting cigarettes. They were loud and boisterous, as their lighters flickered making it hard to hear anything but their laughter. Deacon didn't want to have this conversation with anyone around, anyway.

Taking Rayna's hand, he helped her down off the wall.

"Come on," He said, leading her across the yard and up the porch stairs. He opened the door to his room, thankful that no one had wandered in during the party.

When the door was closed behind them, he spun around to face her and leaned his back against it before he dropped his eyes to the carpet, unable to look at her.

Rayna's eyebrows were raised, "Rifle cleaning?" She repeated Chad's phrase to him, "What was he talking about, Deacon?" She asked, her voice quiet.

Deacon refused to meet her gaze, "Ignore him." Deacon said, running his hand over the back of his neck, "He's a drunk asshole and I'm going to kick his ass when he sobers up." Deacon finally looked at Rayna, watching her face.

"Did he mean…?" She trailed off, and Deacon watched as realization flooded her face. Color infused her pale skin as she swallowed, trying desperately to keep her eyes on his face instead of letting them fall to his jeans, "Is it true?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Rayna, I…" Deacon trailed off, not sure what to say.

Rayna cleared her throat, "Is it true?" She asked again, her voice a bit louder this time.

Deacon sighed, "Yes," He nodded, his voice quiet, "It's true." He held his breath, scared to look at Rayna, but unable to look away, worried that he'd ruined this _thing_ between them somehow.

His stomach tightened as he watched her look at him—he felt the fear course through his body, a little voice rumbling in the back of his mind screaming _you're going to lose her_. He was sure the voice was right until his gaze settled on her eyes. He expected to see anger, shame, maybe some combination of both of those. Instead, what he saw reflected back to him at his admission shocked him.

There, in the depths of the blue that held him so utterly captivated, he saw the unmistakable flare of desire.


	18. October 31st, 1988(b)

_A/N: Happy birthday, L; It's still your birthday in LA._

* * *

 _October 31_ _st_ _, 1988_

The room was eerily silent given the party happening through paper-thin walls and one flimsy door; the deep bass tones filtered through, some vaguely recognizable song playing in the background. Deacon tuned it out, focusing instead on the sound of their breathing—his and Rayna's breaths were coming shallow as they stared at each other; this felt like a big moment. Sex, for Deacon Claybourne, in any incarnation, had never been a big moment—but things, he was learning, were different with Rayna.

Seeing the look on her face, the desire raw and unfiltered, Deacon felt the wood of the door against his back and he was convinced that was the only thing holding him up. Deacon Claybourne, weak in the knees; the though should have unnerved him, should have made him stop this in its tracks, no matter where it was going. But instead, it comforted him. He wanted to be vulnerable with no one but Rayna.

"Rayna," He stared at her, unblinking, convinced that if he broke eye contact the moment would be gone, convinced that the desire in her eyes would be replaced by the anger and shame he had expected—or worse, fear. He didn't trust his voice to say anything but her name, wasn't sure he'd be able to speak.

Rayna held his gaze, staring at him intently, the blue of her eyes suddenly dark and curious; they were a deep shade he'd never seen them before. "Show me, Deacon," Rayna whispered, her voice raw and gritty; she'd never sounded like that before, and if she hadn't been completely sure that she and Deacon were alone in this small room, she may have turned to try to search for the speaker, because it surely couldn't be her, two glasses of Boone's Farm or not. "Show me what you do to yourself when you think of me." Rayna's voice was breathy, deep, and smoky—a word from eleventh grade English popped into her head: _wanton_. She sounded _wanton_.

She felt like she should feel embarrassed, but there was a hot flame coursing itself through her body, and it felt at once unfamiliar and like it had been a part of her forever. The flame licked at any embarrassment until every corner of her body felt alight. She _wanted_ this, she wanted to see him like this—for him to let her see him like this, even if it meant she would never be the same again. The thought scared her; but more than that, it exhilarated her.

Deacon's mouth dropped open, and he felt his jeans tightening as the blood rushed through his veins despite his best efforts to keep it in place—he'd never seen Rayna like this. He'd never even dared to _imagine_ her like this. "Rayna, you don't have to…" He started, but stopped short when she took a step towards him. He moved to back up, but his back pressed into the door.

"I know," Rayna whispered, her voice gentle as she closed the gap between them. She reached out and touched the back of his hand lightly as she rose up on her toes to plant a soft kiss to his lips, "Show me."

She stepped back, and Deacon moved from the door, watching in awe as Rayna settled herself on the end of his bed. "Rayna, I…" He tried to protest one more time; it sounded weak even to his ears. The pressure was building in him, spurred on by every fantasy he'd ever had about her playing in succession in his head.

"It's okay," She said, quietly, "I want to see." When he didn't move, she started to second-guess herself—maybe she was being too bold, maybe this was something she shouldn't ask of him, maybe this is something she shouldn't _want_ to see. But just as quickly as the doubts came into her mind, they vanished. In this moment, there was nothing she had ever wanted to see _more_. And there was nothing between she and Deacon that could ever be wrong, far as she could see. "Please?"

His promise to Watty cracked like lightning in his mind, but it was gone just as fast. Promises be damned, he'd never felt about anyone the way he felt about Rayna. His decision made, he walked slowly across his room. The room was dark, but there was moonlight mixed with porch-light pouring itself through the closed blinds and their eyes had fully adjusted to the half-dark. He settled himself into a chair in the corner of his room, moonlight dancing across his lap.

Deacon watched Rayna as her chest rose and fell, a strip of moonlight painted perfectly across her chest as she perched on the edge of his bed, watching him carefully. Her eyes widened as she realized his answer.

Deacon brought his hand to the button on his jeans, his fingers idly playing with the gold button for a moment. "I don't want to scare you." He said it simply, watching her face as his finger traced the outline of his button. He didn't want to ruin anything between them, he needed to not ruin anything between them.

"Do I look scared?" Rayna asked, her voice dropping lower than he'd ever heard it before.

Deacon looked at her, took in her parted lips, her red skin, her hooded eyes. She didn't look scared at all, she looked the exact opposite—she looked turned on. Still, he had to be sure; it was too important. His eyebrows shot up in question, "Are you _sure_ about this, baby?" He asked, his voice echoing in the tiny room despite the softness with which he asked the question.

Rayna's tongue darted out and slid across her lips. She stared at him, unblinking, "Yes," she cleared her throat, "I'm _sure_ , Deacon."

Stifling a groan as he watched her tongue move across her lips again, Deacon popped the button open on his fly and slid the zipper down, the noise loud in the otherwise quiet room. He lifted his hips and slid his jeans down over them, his plaid boxers tented by his obvious arousal. He glanced at Rayna, watching her face for any signs of apprehension. Finding none, he hooked his thumbs into his boxers and worked them down over his hips, never taking his eyes from Rayna's.

She was still looking at his face, watching his muscles twitch and move until her eyes finally snapped down; her eyes widened slightly as she looked at him, exposed. She'd had health class and had seen the occasional jock streaker at the private school she attended, but she'd never seen _this_. She couldn't take her eyes away from him, and her mouth was suddenly dry, every ounce of moisture leeched from her body… _except_ —she licked her lips and swallowed hard, watching as he curled his hand around his base.

She watched his hand slide up himself, tan skin over tan skin, and Rayna shifted against the bed, the fire in her blood spreading without rhyme or reason until she felt her entire body flush. Deacon's hand moved slowly, up and down, then back up again, and Rayna suddenly wished it was her hand moving against him. She wondered what he would feel like in her palm, how her hand would feel to him. She didn't dare move, though, for fear he would misinterpret and stop.

"God, Deacon," She breathed, but she couldn't find the words for much else as she watched him guide his hand over himself and back again, his pace alternately speeding up and then slowing down again. It was sensual; she wasn't sure what she had expected, but she found herself drawn in to his fluid movements. There was something so forbidden about what she was witnessing—something he'd done privately for so long, but it didn't feel taboo to her. It felt beautiful. "I've never seen anything so…" She trailed off, unable to find the exact right word to finish her sentence. It was on the tip of her tongue, but she lost it.

She chanced a glance at his face and he was watching her intently; his blue eyes were dark and hooded, and the look in them sent a deep stab of _something_ directly into her stomach. It made her feel out of control in a way she never had before. It radiated out and down, and she shifted her position, trying to alleviate _any_ of the pressure building within her. Suddenly, Deacon closed his eyes, and Rayna dropped her gaze back to his lap, watched his hand move in slow, steady strokes.

"What do you think about, Deacon, when you do this?" She asked, suddenly curious.

Deacon's eyes snapped open and his hand stilled, his thumb moving in lazy circles against himself. The trepidation on his face was clear—he watched Rayna for a moment, watched for any sign she might be scared, that this might not be what she wanted, that she was in too deep and wanted out. But all he saw was pure lust rolling off her in waves, "You." He whispered, his voice strained as he moved his hand again. "I think about you."

"What am I doing when you imagine me?" Rayna asked, wondering if it was the desire coursing through her or the Boone's Farm that gave her so much courage. _Wanton_ the word came again and she nearly smiled.

"God, Ray," Deacon breathed, "Not this." He said, chuckling a little. At her look, he rushed to correct himself, "I just meant… I wouldn't have imagined you liking something like… this."

Rayna let a slow smile flit across her face as she shifted in her seat, "I do," She said, a bit of shyness creeping back into her voice, "I do like it." Rayna considered him, watched his hand moving quicker now than it had before; she glanced up at his eyes and felt momentarily stunned. No one had ever looked at her the way he was looking at her now—it was intoxicating, more than any of the apple wine she'd had tonight. "Do we have sex in your fantasies?" Her voice was quiet, tentative, and she dropped her eyes back down to his lap.

Deacon let out a small grunt, "Sometimes." He admitted, too far gone and too close to even consider being cautious, to consider not telling the truth.

Rayna looked at his face again. His eyes were closed now and he had a fine sheen of sweat on his brow. He looked beautiful—there was no other word to describe him in that moment. She had wondered what her first sexual experience would be like in the same way all girls do—in the abstract. But she never could have imagined it would be this, that it would feel like this—it felt so personal, so intimate, so unabashedly tender that her heard swelled.

"What do you think about most often?" Rayna asked, watching the muscles on his face twitch a little as his hand continued its motions.

Deacon's eyes opened again, and they made eye contact. He watched her drink him in, watched as her eyes skated down his neck, his chest, his torso, until they landed on his hand. Rayna licked her lips and he damn near lost it—then her eyes snapped back up to his.

"Tell me." She whispered, her voice barely carrying over the extraneous noise coming into the room from outside.

"I think about…" Deacon started, wondering how to phrase it. He thought about Rayna a _lot,_ always in different ways, but there was one that he had to admit came more frequently than most, "My mouth… on you," Deacon said, working his hand faster. "I want to know how you taste."

Rayna's eyes widened, and her mouth formed into a little 'o.' She breathed out heavy and hard and her skin flushed a deep shade of crimson. Rayna let out a little whimper, and then a moan as the graphic images of Deacon flashed in her mind.

The sounds she made were Deacon's undoing, and his hand worked faster and faster until his eyes slammed shut and his release overtook him, a groan falling from his lips as he whispered her name. He could hear a humming in his ears, his blood rushing through his veins as his body trembled. When his pulse finally began to slow, he opened his eyes cautiously, worried about what he might find on Rayna's face. Worried that he might have just ruined everything between them.

She was staring at him, a small smile forming on her lips, "That was…" She started, shaking her head. Her smile grew, "The hottest thing I've ever seen," She finished, her throat still dry.

Deacon chuckled and then grabbed a clean hand towel from the bookshelf next to the chair, "Only because you couldn't see yourself watching me." Deacon said, cleaning himself off. He slipped his boxers back up over his hips and tossed the towel in the hamper.

Deacon moved closer to Rayna, and then gently sat down next to her on his bed. He slipped his hand into her hair, his thumb caressing her cheekbone softly. "You," he said, his voice slow and sweet, "Are something else, Rayna Jaymes." He leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, his tongue sliding slowly into her mouth. Rayna relaxed into him and Deacon marveled at the feel of her soft lips against his. He deepened the kiss, his hand tangling further into her hair—he pulled back and bit on her lip, gently.

Rayna rested her forehead against his, her breathing heavy, her mind racing.

"What do you want, baby?" There was no mistaking the tenderness in his voice when he spoke to her. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out, "You can tell me," He whispered softly.

"I want… you to hold me. I want to sleep here tonight, Deacon." Rayna whispered, then leaned in to kiss him.

Deacon smiled against her mouth, "Of course. You sleepy, baby?" He asked. At her nod, he moved to his dresser and pulled out a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. He turned his back as she brought her hands to the button of her skirt, and he tried to think about anything _other_ than the sound of Rayna's clothes rustling, being stripped from her body his room.

"Okay," She said softly, and Deacon turned back around. She was wearing the shirt he'd given her, but little else. The sight sent the blood rushing through his body again.

"Let me see you in that," Deacon breathed as his eyes drank in the sight of her in his t-shirt. The shirt was dark black, a beautiful contrast with her creamy skin, evident even in the near-dark. A silver square was printed on the front with text stretched across her breasts: _Johnny Cash Silver._ His favorite shirt had never looked better.

Rayna smiled, then crawled into his bed like she'd been sleeping there for years. The thought made Deacon smile and he crawled in next to her. She curled into his chest as he brought the blankets up around them. The scent of laundry detergent and aftershave wafted up around them and Rayna snuggled into him tighter letting out a small contented sigh. Deacon wrapped his arm around her, enjoying the warmth of her body against his.

The music filtering in from outside was quieter now, slower; the chorus of Cheap Trick's The Flame made it's way through the thin walls and Deacon charted out the chords against Rayna's slender bicep. The voices of stragglers from the party were quieter now, too, soft murmurs barely heard through the windows. It was growing late, nearly midnight now.

Deacon's thumb switched from chords and started drawing lazy circles on Rayna's shoulder. "You know," Deacon's voice was quiet, reverent, "I'd never…" He tipped her chin up to him with his thumb so she was looking at him, "I'd never done that… in front of someone before."

Rayna smiled, "Really?" She wasn't stupid. She knew Deacon had been with women before, probably lots of them—she'd never allowed herself to think she might be the _first_ of _anything_ for him. The thought pleased her—that no one had ever seen what she just saw sent a tight coil directly into her belly.

He nodded, "Really." Deacon dipped his head and kissed her tenderly. She tasted of Boone's Farm and something he'd come to describe as purely _Rayna_ , unlike anything he'd ever tasted before—equal parts sweet and salty. It was a heady combination, and he deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth with his tongue. She kissed him back with fervor, matching his passion and making little noises at the back of her throat as she clutched at his back, his hair.

She was coming undone, the fire stoked in her belly yet again. She pulled away from him, "I want…" She whispered against his lips, her breath sweet, "Deacon, I want to…" She said, shifting her legs against him, writhing. She whimpered a little as Deacon pulled his head back from her slightly, watching her face.

Rayna pressed her eyes closed, and suddenly Deacon understood her meaning.

"Do it, baby," He whispered, his voice heavy.

Rayna's eyes opened and she bit her lip, then uncurled her hand from his bicep and rolled onto her back. Deacon nuzzled into her side, planting kisses along her jawline. He watched as her hand dipped underneath the covers and disappeared. A moment later, her head was back and her eyes were closed, the sheets softly rustling.

Deacon concentrated on her face, watching as her eyes fluttered open and closed. He was transfixed by her; even though he couldn't see it, he was transfixed by her hand between her legs. He kissed her neck, then traveled upward, leaving open-mouthed kisses everywhere he went until he finally landed on her ear.

He traced the shell with his tongue, "You're so beautiful, Rayna," He whispered, then he bit her ear gently, "This is the sexiest thing I've ever seen," He said, his voice dropping even lower. " _You're_ the sexiest thing I've ever seen."

At his words, at the feel of his warm breath against her ear, she felt herself going over the edge—the shudders wracked her body and she bit back a moan, still conscious of the murmuring voices just outside his window. When the wave finished, washing over her, she lazily opened her eyes and stared at Deacon.

"Wow," She grinned, then yawned.

"My thoughts exactly," Deacon said, nuzzling against her neck. He placed a soft kiss on her pulse point, enjoying the rapid beat of her heart under his lips.

"Deacon, I…" She stopped, unsure, "I…" She tried again, but the words wouldn't come.

Deacon propped his head up on his arm and looked at her, "What, baby?"

Rayna saw the concern clouding his face, and she knew it was true—what she'd felt growing since that day on those winding trails behind Watty's house. "Never mind," She said, she'd been brave enough tonight. She smiled at him, then kissed his cheek, "Tell you later," She said, her eyelids growing impossibly heavy.

Deacon dropped his head back down to the pillow, "Alright," He agreed, then kissed her temple. He glanced at the clock, "Happy All Saints Day, baby." He whispered, pulling her tighter against him.

"Mm," She agreed, wiggling into him, enjoying how safe she felt in his arms; the warmth emanated from him and she drew zig-zagged lines on the back of his hand, his steady breathing comforting her.

And then sleep came for her, one final thought leading her directly to her dreams: Deacon Claybourne was going to be her first, and he was going to be her last.


End file.
